LIBRARY 

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OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 


PRESENTED  BY 

Mr.    H.    H.    Klllani 


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H.    DE    BALZAC 


THE    COMEDIE    HUMAINE 


aiVfrA»S»n» 


"CCME,     NANON.     TAKF     AS     MUCH     AS     YOU     LIKE.' 


H.    DE     BALZAC 


Eugenie  Grandet 


AND  OTHER  STORIES 


TRANSLATED    BY 


ELLEN    MARRIAGE 


WITH   A   PREFACE  BY 


GEORGE    SAINTSBURY 


e^ 


n- 


PHILADELPHIA 

The  Gebbie  Publishing  Co.,  Ltd. 
1897 


CONTENTS. 

PACK 

PREFACE ix 

EUGENIE   GRANDET I 

THE  MARANAS 225 

THE  EXECUTIONER  {El  Verdugo) 297 

FAREWELL    {Adieu) 310 

A   SEASIDE    TRAGEDY 359 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

"COME,  NANON,  TAKE  AS  MUCH  AS  YOU  LIKE"    .         .         Frontispiece 

PAGB 

THE   DOOR   STOOD   AJAR;     SHE   THRUST   IT   OPEN     .  .  .  .125 

"DO  YOU   HEAR   WHAT   I   SAY?      GO  !  " I70 

HE  WOULD  SIT   FOR   WHOLE  HOURS    WITH    HIS    EYES    FIXED    ON 

THE   LOUIS *9S 

Drawn  by  D.  Murray  Smith. 

"IS   THAT   M,   DIARD?" ^93 


PREFACE. 

With  "Eugenie  Grandet,"  as  with  one  or  two,  but  only 
one  or  two  others  of  Balzac's  works,  we  come  to  a  case  of 
Quis  vituperavit?  Here,  and  perhaps  here  only,  with  "  Le 
Medecin  de  Campagne "  and  "  Le  Pere  Goriot,"  though 
there  may  be  carpers  and  depreciators,  there  are  no  open 
deniers  of  the  merit  of  the  work.  The  pathos  of  Eugenie,  the 
mastery  of  Grandet,  the  success  of  the  minor  characters,  espe- 
cially Nanon,  are  universally  recognized.  The  importance 
of  the  work  has  sometimes  been  slightly  questioned  even  by 
those  who  admit  its  beauty :  but  this  questioning  can  only 
support  itself  on  the  unavowed  but  frequently  present  convic- 
tion or  suspicion  that  a  "good"  or  "goody"  book  must  be 
a  weak  one.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  no  book  can  be,  or  can  be 
asked  to  be,  better  than  perfect  on  its  own  scheme,  and  with 
its  own  conditions.  And  on  its  own  scheme  and  with  its  own 
conditions  "Eugenie  Grandet"  is  very  nearly  perfect. 

On  the  character  of  the  heroine  will  turn  the  final  decision 
whether,  as  has  been  said  by  some  (I  believe  I  might  be 
charged  with  having  said  it  myself),  Balzac's  virtuous  char- 
acters are  always  more  theatrical  than  real.  The  decision 
must  take  in  the  Benassis  of  "  I^  Medecin  de  Campagne," 
but  with  him  it  will  have  less  difficulty ;  for  Benassis,  despite 
the  beauty  and  pathos  of  his  confession,  is  a  little  "a  person 
of  the  boards"  in  his  unfailingly  providential  character  and 
his  complete  devotion  to  others.  Must  Eugenie,  his  feminine 
companion  in  goodness,  be  put  on  these  boards  likewise? 

I  admit  that  of  late  years,  and  more  particularly  since  the 
undertaking  of  this  present  task  made  necessary  to  me  a  more 
complete  and  methodical  study  of  the  whole  works,  including 

(ix) 


X  PREFACE. 

the  most  miscellaneous  miscellanies,  than  I  had  previously 
given,  my  estimate  of  Balzac's  goodness  has  gone  up  very 
much — that  of  his  greatness  had  no  need  of  raising.  But  I 
still  think  that  even  about  Eugenie  there  is  a  very  little  un- 
reality, a  slight  touch  of  that  ignorance  of  the  actual  nature 
of  girls  which  even  fervent  admirers  of  French  novelists  in 
general,  and  of  Balzac  in  particular,  have  confessed  to  finding 
in  them  and  him.  That  Eugenie  should  be  entirely  subju- 
gated first  by  the  splendor,  and  then  by  the  misfortune,  of 
her  Parisian  cousin,  is  not  in  the  least  unnatural ;  nor  do  I  for 
one  moment  pretend  to  deny  the  possibility  or  the  likelihood 

of  her  having 

"  lifted  up  her  eyes, 
And  loved  him  with  that  love  which  was  her  doom." 

It  is  also  difficult  to  make  too  much  allowance  for  the  fatal 
effect  of  an  education  under  an  insignificant  if  amiable  mother 
and  a  tyrannical  father,  and  of  a  confinement  to  an  excessively 
small  circle  of  extremely  provincial  society,  on  a  disposition 
of  more  nobility  than  intellectual  height  or  range.  Still  it 
must,  I  think,  be  permitted  to  the  advocatus  diaboli  to  urge 
that  Eugenie's  martyrdom  is  almost  too  thorough  ;  that  though 
complete,  it  is  not,  as  Gautier  said  of  his  own  ill  luck,  ^'artiste- 
ment  complet ;  "  that  though  it  may  be  difficult  to  put  the 
finger  on  any  special  blot,  to  say,  "  Here  the  girl  should  have 
revolted,"  or,  "  Here  she  would  have  behaved  in  some  other 
way  differently ;  "  still  there  is  a  vague  sense  of  incomplete 
lifelikeness — of  that  tendency  to  mirage  and  exaggeration 
which  has  been,  and  will  be,  so  often  noticed. 

Still  it  is  vague  and  not  unpleasantly  obtrusive,  and  in  all 
other  ways  Eugenie  is  a  triumph.  It  is  noticeable  that  her 
creator  has  dwelt  on  the  actual  traits  of  her  face  with  much 
more  distinctness  than  is  usual  with  him  ;  for  Balzac's  extra- 
ordinary minuteness  in  many  ways  does  not  invariably  extend 
to  physical  charms.  This  minuteness  is  indeed  so  great  that 
one  has  a  certain  suspicion  of  the  head  being  taken  from  a  live 


PREFACE.  jd 

and  special  original.  Nor  is  her  physical  presence — abomin- 
ably libeled,  there  is  no  doubt,  by  Mme.  des  Grassins — the 
only  distinct  thing  about  Eugenie.  We  see  her  hovering 
about  the  beau  cousin  with  an  innocent  officiousness  capable 
of  committing  no  less  the  major  crime  of  lending  him  money 
than  the  minor,  but  even  more  audacious  because  open,  one 
of  letting  him  have  sugar.  She  is  perfectly  natural  in  tlie 
courage  with  which  she  bears  her  father's  unjust  rage,  and  in 
the  forgiveness  which,  quite  as  a  matter  of  course,  she  extends 
to  him  after  he  has  broken  her  own  peace  and  her  mother's 
heart.  It  is  perhaps  necessary  to  be  French  to  comprehend 
entirely  why  she  could  not  heap  that  magnificent  pile  of  coals 
of  fire  on  her  unworthy  cousin's  head  without  flinging  herself 
and  her  seventeen  millions  into  the  arms  of  somebody  else ; 
but  the  thing  can  be  accepted  if  not  quite  understood.  And 
the  whole  transaction  of  this  heaping  is  admirable. 

Nanon  is,  of  course,  quite  excellent.  She  is  not  stupid,  as 
her  kind  are  supposed  to  be;  she  is  only  blindly  faithful,  as 
well  as  thoroughly  good-hearted.  Nor  is  the  unfortunate 
Madame  Grandet  an  idiot,  nor  are  any  of  the  comparses  mere 
dummies.  But  naturally  they  all,  even  Eugdnie  herself  to 
some  extent,  serve  mainly  as  set-offs  to  the  terrible  Grandet. 
In  him  Balzac,  a  Frenchman  of  Frenchmen,  has  boldly  de- 
picted perhaps  the  worst  and  the  commonest  vice  of  the 
French  character,  the  vice  which  is  more  common,  and  cer- 
tainly worse  than  either  the  frivolity  or  the  license  with  which 
the  nation  is  usually  charged — the  pushing,  to  wit,  of  thrift  to 
the  loathsome  excess  of  an  inhuman  avarice.  But  he  has  justi- 
fied himself  to  his  country  by  communicating  to  his  hero  an 
unquestioned  grandeur.  The  mirage  works  again,  but  it 
works  with  splendid  effect.  One  need  not  be  a  sentimentalist 
to  shudder  a  little  at  the  ta  ta  ta  ta  of  Grandet,  the  refrain  of 
a  money-grubbing  which  almost  escapes  greediness  by  its 
diabolical  extravagance  and  success. 

The  bibliography  of  "Eugenie  Grandet"  is  not  compli- 


xu  PKEFACE. 

cated.  Balzac  tried  the  first  chapter  (there  were  originally 
seven)  in  L' Europe  Litieraire  for  September  19,  1833;  but 
he  did  not  continue  it  there,  and  it  appeared  complete  in  the 
first  volume  of  "  Scenes  de  la  Vie  de  Province  "  next  year. 
Charpentier  republished  it  in  a  single  volume  in  1839.  The 
"  Comedie  "  engulfed  it  in  1843,  the  chapter  divisions  then 
disappearing. 

All  the  "Marana"  group  of  stories  appeared  together  in 
the  fourth  edition  of  the  "Philosophical  Studies,"  1835-1837. 
Most  of  them,  however,  had  earlier  appearances  in  periodicals 
and  in  the  Romans  et  Contes  Philosophiques,  which  preceded 
the  "Studies."  And  in  these  various  appearances  they  were 
subjected  to  their  author's  usual  processes  of  division  and  uni- 
fication, of  sub-titling  and  canceling  sub-titles.  "  Les  Ma- 
rana"  appeared  first  in  the  Rnme  de  Paris  for  the  last  month 
of  1832  and  the  first  0/  1833;  while  it  next  made  a  show, 
oddly  enough,  as  a  "  Sc^ne  de  la  vie  Parisienne."  "Fare- 
well" (Adieu)  appeared  in  the  Mode  during  June,  1830,  and 
was  afterwards  for  a  time  a  "  Scene  de  la  vie  privee."  "  The 
Executioner '  *  {El  Verdugo)  was  issued  by  the  Mode  for  Jan- 
uary 29,  1830;  and  "A  Seaside  Tragedy"  (^Un  Drame  au 
bord  de  la  mer)  appeared  nowhere  except  in  book  form  with 
its  companions  until  1843,  when  it  left  them  for  a  time  (after- 
wards to  return),  and  under  another  title  accompanied  several 
other  stories  in  a  separate  publication.  G.  S. 


EUGENIE  GRANDET. 

To  Maria. 

Your  portrait  is  the  fairest  ornament  of  this  book,  and 
here  it  is  fitting  that  your  name  should  be  set,  like  the 
branch  of  box  taken  from  some  unknown  garden  to  lie 
for  a  while  in  the  holy  water,  and  afterwards  set  by 
pious  hands  above  the  threshold,  where  the  green  spray, 
ever  renewed,  is  a  sacred  talisman  to  ward  ojf  all  evil 
from  the  house. 

In  some  country  towns  there  are  houses  more  depressing  to 
the  sight  than  the  dimmest  cloister,  the  most  melancholy 
ruins,  or  the  dreariest  stretch  of  sandy  waste.  Perhaps  such 
houses  combine  the  characteristics  of  all  the  three,  and  to  the 
dumb  silence  of  the  monastery  they  unite  the  gauntness  and 
grimness  of  the  ruin,  and  the  arid  desolation  of  the  waste. 
So  little  sign  is  there  of  life  or  of  movement  about  them,  that  a 
stranger  might  take  them  for  uninhabited  dwellings ;  but  the 
sound  of  an  unfamiliar  footstep  brings  some  one  to  the  window, 
a  passive  face  suddenly  appears  above  the  sill,  and  the  traveler 
receives  a  listless  and  indifferent  glance — it  is  almost  as  if  a 
monk  leaned  out  to  look  for  a  moment  on  the  world. 

There  is  one  particular  house  front  in  Saumur  which  pos- 
sesses all  these  melancholy  characteristics ;  the  house  is  still 
standing  at  the  end  of  the  steep  street  which  leads  to  the 
castle,  at  the  upper  end  of  the  town.  The  street  is  very  quiet 
nowadays ;  it  is  hot  in  summer  and  cold  in  winter,  and  very 
dark  in  places ;  besides  this,  it  is  remarkably  narrow  and 
crooked,  there  is  a  peculiarly  formal  and  sedate  air  about  its 
houses,  and  it  is  curious  how  every  sound  reverberates  through 
(1) 


2  EUGENIE   GRAND ET. 

it — the  cobblestones  (always  clean  and  dry)  ring  with  every 
passing  footfall. 

This  is  the  oldest  part  of  the  town,  the  ramparts  rise  im- 
mediately above  it.  The  houses  of  the  quarter  have  stood 
for  three  centuries ;  and  albeit  they  are  built  of  wood,  they 
are  strong  and  sound  yet.  Each  house  has  a  certain  character 
of  its  own,  so  that  for  the  artist  and  antiquary  this  is  the  most 
attractive  part  of  the  town  of  Saumur.  Indeed,  it  would 
hardly  be  possible  to  go  past  the  house,  without  a  wondering 
glance  at  the  grotesque  figures  carved  on  the  projecting  ends 
of  the  huge  beams,  set  like  a  black  bas-relief  above  the  ground 
floor  of  almost  every  dwelling.  Sometimes,  where  these 
beams  have  been  protected  from  the  weather  by  slates,  a  strip 
of  dull  blue  runs  across  the  crumbling  walls,  and  crowning 
the  whole  is  a  high-pitched  roof  oddly  curved  and  bent  with 
age ;  the  shingle  boards  that  cover  it  are  all  warped  and 
twisted  by  the  alternate  sun  and  rain  of  many  a  year.  There 
are  bits  of  delicate  carving  too,  here  and  there,  though  you 
can  scarcely  make  them  out,  on  the  worn  and  blackened  window 
sills  that  seemed  scarcely  strong  enough  to  bear  the  weight  of 
the  red  flower-pot  in  which  some  poor  workwoman  has  set  her 
tree  carnation  or  her  monthly  rose. 

Still  further  along  the  street  there  are  more  pretentious 
house-doors  studded  with  huge  nails.  On  these  our  forefathers 
exercised  their  ingenuity,  tracing  hieroglyphs  and  mysterious 
signs  which  were  once  understood  in  every  household,  but  all 
clues  to  their  meaning  are  forgotten  now — they  will  be  under- 
stood no  more  of  any  mortal.  In  such  wise  would  a  Protestant 
make  his  profession  of  faith,  there  also  would  a  Leaguer  curse 
Henry  IV.  in  graven  symbols.  A  burgher  would  commem- 
orate his  civic  dignities,  the  glory  of  his  long-forgotten  tenure 
of  office  as  alderman  or  sheriff".  On  these  old  houses,  if  we 
could  but  read  it,  the  history  of  France  is  chronicled. 

Beside  the  rickety  little  tenement  built  of  wood,  with  ma- 
sonry of  the  roughest,  upon  the  wall  of  which  the  craftsman 


EUG&NIE    GRAuVDET.  3 

has  set  the  glorified  image  of  his  trade — his  plane — stands  the 
mansion  of  some  noble,  with  its  massive  round  arched  gate- 
way; you  can  still  see  some  traces  above  it  of  the  arms  borne 
by  the  owner,  though  they  have  been  torn  down  in  one  of  the 
many  revolutions  which  have  convulsed  the  country  since  1789. 

You  will  find  no  imposing  shop  windows  in  the  street ; 
strictly  speaking,  indeed,  there  are  no  shops  at  all,  for  the 
rooms  on  the  ground  floor  in  which  articles  are  exposed  for 
sale  are  neither  more  nor  less  than  the  workshops  of  the  times 
of  our  forefathers  ;  lovers  of  the  middle  ages  will  find  here 
the  primitive  simplicity  of  an  older  world.  The  low-ceiled 
rooms  are  dark,  cavernous,  and  guiltless  alike  of  plate-glass- 
windows  or  of  showcases ;  there  is  no  attempt  at  decoration 
either  within  or  without,  no  effort  is  made  to  display  the  wares. 
The  door,  as  a  rule,  is  heavily  barred  with  iron  and  divided 
into  two  parts ;  the  upper  half  is  thrown  back  during  the  day, 
admitting  fresh  air  and  daylight  into  the  damp  little  cave ; 
while  the  lower  portion,  to  which  a  bell  is  attached,  is  seldom 
still.  The  shop  front  consists  of  a  low  wall  of  about  elbow 
height,  which  fills  half  the  space  between  floor  and  ceiling ; 
there  is  no  window  sash,  but  heavy  shutters  fastened  with  iron 
bolts  fit  into  a  groove  in  the  top  of  the  wall,  and  are  set  up  at 
night  and  taken  down  in  the  morning.  The  same  wall  serves 
as  a  counter  on  which  to  set  out  goods  for  the  customer's 
inspection.  There  is  no  sort  of  charlatanism  about  the  pro- 
ceeding. The  samples  submitted  to  the  public  vary  according 
to  the  nature  of  the  trade.  You  behold  a  keg  or  two  of  salt 
or  of  salted  fish,  two  or  three  bales  of  sail-cloth  or  coils  of 
rope,  some  copper  wire  hanging  from  the  rafters,  a  few  cooper's 
hoops  on  the  walls,  or  a  length  or  two  of  cloth  upon  the 
shelves. 

You  go  in.  A  neat  and  tidy  damsel  with  a  pair  of  bare  red 
arms,  the  fresh  good  looks  of  youth,  and  a  white  handkerchief 
pinned  about  her  throat,  lays  down  her  knitting  and  goes  to 
summon  a  father  or  mother,  who  appears  and  sells  goods  to- 


4  EUGENIE   GRAXDET. 

you  as  you  desire,  be  it  a  matter  of  two  sous  or  of  twenty 
thousand  francs  ;  the  manner  of  the  transaction  varying  as  the 
humor  of  the  vendor  is  surly,  obliging,  or  independent.  You 
will  see  a  dealer  in  barrel-staves  sitting  in  his  doorway,  twirl- 
ing his  thumbs  as  he  chats  with  a  neighbor ;  judging  from 
appearances,  he  might  possess  nothing  in  this  world  but  the 
bottles  on  his  few  rickety  shelves  and  two  or  three  bundles  of 
laths ;  but  his  well-stocked  timber-yard  on  the  quay  supplies 
all  the  coopers  in  Anjou,  he  knows  to  a  barrel-stave  how  many 
casks  he  can  "  turn  out,"  as  he  says,  if  the  vines  do  well  and 
the  vintage  is  good ;  a  few  scorching  days  and  his  fortune  is 
made,  a  rainy  summer  is  a  ruinous  thing  for  him  ;  in  a  single 
morning  the  price  of  puncheons  will  rise  as  high  as  eleven 
francs  or  drop  to  six. 

Here,  as  in  Touraine,  the  whole  trade  of  the  district  de- 
pends upon  an  atmospherical  depression.  Landowners,  vine- 
growers,  timber  merchants,  coopers,  innkeepers  and  lighter- 
men, one  and  all  are  on  the  watch  for  a  ray  of  sunlight.  Not 
a  man  of  them  but  goes  to  bed  in  fear  and  trembling  lest  he 
should  hear  in  the  morning  that  there  has  been  a  frost  in  the 
night.  If  it  is  not  rain  that  they  dread,  it  is  wind  or  drought ; 
they  must  have  cloudy  weather  or  heat,  and  the  rainfall  and 
the  weather  generally  all  arranged  to  suit  their  peculiar 
notions. 

Between  the  clerk  of  the  weather  and  the  vine-growing 
interest  there  is  a  duel  which  never  ceases.  Faces  visibly 
lengthen  or  shorten,  grow  bright  or  gloomy,  with  the  ups  and 
downs  of  the  barometer.  Sometimes  you  hear  from  one  end 
to  the  other  of  the  old  High  Street  of  Saumur  the  words, 
"  This  is  golden  weather !  "  or  again,  in  language  which  like- 
wise is  no  mere  figure  of  speech,  "  It  is  raining  gold  louis  !  " 
and  they  all  know  the  exact  value  of  sun  or  rain  at  the  right 
moment. 

After  twelve  o'clock  or  so  on  a  Saturday  in  the  summer- 
time, you  will  not  do  a  pennyworth  of  business  among  the 


EUG&NIE   GRANDET.  & 

worthy  townsmen  of  Saumur.  Each  has  his  little  farm  and  his 
bit  of  vineyard,  and  goes  to  spend  the  "  week  end  "  in  the 
country.  As  everybody  knows  this  beforehand,  just  as  every- 
body knows  everybody  else's  business,  his  goings  and  comings, 
his  buyings  and  sellings,  and  profits  to  boot,  the  good  folk  are 
free  to  spend  ten  hours  out  of  the  twelve  in  making  up  pleasant 
little  parties,  in  taking  notes  and  making  comments,  and  keep- 
ing a  sharp  lookout  on  their  neighbors'  affairs.  The  mistress 
of  a  house  cannot  buy  a  partridge  but  the  neighbors  will 
inquire  of  her  husband  whether  the  bird  was  done  to  a  turn ; 
no  damsel  can  put  her  head  out  of  the  window  without  being 
observed  by  every  group  of  unoccupied  observers. 

Impenetrable,  dark,  and  silent  as  the  houses  may  seem,  they 
contain  no  mysteries  hidden  from  public  scrutiny,  and  in  the 
same  way  every  one  knows  what  is  passing  in  every  one  else's 
mind.  To  begin  with,  the  good  folk  spend  most  of  their  lives 
out  of  doors,  they  sit  on  the  steps  of  their  houses,  breakfast 
there  and  dine  there,  and  adjust  any  little  family  differences 
in  the  doorway.  Every  passer-by  is  scanned  with  the  most 
minute  and  diligent  attention  ;  hence,  any  stranger  who  may 
happen  to  arrive  in  such  a  country  town  has,  in  a  manner,  to 
run  the  gauntlet,  and  is  severely  quizzed  from  every  doorstep. 
By  dint  of  perseverance  in  the  methods  thus  indicated  a  quan- 
tity of  droll  stories  maybe  collected ;  and,  indeed,  the  people 
of  Angers,  who  are  of  an  ingenious  turn,  and  quick  at  rep- 
artee, have  been  nicknamed  "the  tattlers"  on  these  very 
grounds. 

The  largest  houses  of  the  old  quarter  in  which  the  nobles 
once  dwelt  are  all  at  the  upper  end  of  the  street,  and  in  one 
of  these  the  events  took  place  which  are  about  to  be  narrated 
in  the  course  of  this  story.  As  has  been  already  said,  it  was 
a  melancholy  house,  a  venerable  relic  of  a  bygone  age,  built 
for  the  men  and  women  of  an  older  and  simpler  world,  from 
which  our  modern  France  is  farther  and  farther  removed  day 
by  day.      After  you  have   followed   for   some  distance  the 


6  EUG&NIE   GRANDET. 

windings  of  the  picturesque  street,  where  memories  of  the 
past  are  called  up  by  every  detail  at  every  turn,  till  at  length 
you  fall  unconsciously  to  musing,  you  come  upon  a  sufficiently 
gloomy  recess  in  which  a  doorway  is  dimly  visible,  the  door 
oi  M.  Grandef  5  house.  Of  all  the  pride  and  glory  of  propri- 
etorship conveyed  to  the  provincial  mind  by  those  three 
words,  it  is  impossible  to  give  any  idea,  except  by  giving  the 
biography  of  the  owner — M.  Grandet. 

M.  Grandet  enjoyed  a  certain  reputation  in  Saumur.  Its 
causes  and  effects  can  scarcely  be  properly  estimated  by  out- 
siders who  have  not  lived  in  a  country  town  for  a  longer  or 
shorter  time.  There  were  still  old  people  in  existence  who 
could  remember  former  times,  and  called  M.  Grandet  "  Good 
man  Grandet,"  but  there  were  not  many  of  them  left,  and 
they  were  rapidly  disappearing  year  by  year. 

In  1789  Grandet  was  a  master  cooper,  in  a  very  good  way 
of  business,  who  could  read  and  write  and  cast  accounts. 
When  the  French  Republic,  having  confiscated  the  lands  of 
the  Church  in  the  district  of  Saumur,  proceeded  to  sell  them 
by  auction,  the  cooper  was  forty  years  of  age,  and  had  just 
married  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  timber  merchant.  As 
Grandet  possessed  at  that  moment  his  wife's  dowry  as  well  as 
some  considerable  amount  of  ready  money  of  his  own,  he 
repaired  to  the  bureau  of  the  district ;  and  making  due  allow- 
ance for  two  hundred  double  louis  offered  by  his  father-in-law 
to  that  man  of  stern  morals,  the  Republican  who  conducted 
the  sale,  the  cooper  acquired  some  of  the  best  vineland  in 
the  neighborhood,  an  old  abbey,  and  a  few  little  farms,  for  an 
old  song,  to  all  of  which  property,  though  it  might  be  ill- 
gotten,  the  law  gave  him  a  clear  title. 

There  was  little  sympathy  felt  with  the  Revolution  in 
Saumur.  Goodman  Grandet  was  looked  upon  as  a  bold 
spirit,  a  Republican,  a  patriot,  an  "advanced  thinker,"  and 
whatnot;  but  all  the  "thinking"  the  cooper  ever  did 
turned  simply  and  solely  on  the  subject  of  his  vines.     He 


EUGEXIE    GRANDET.  7 

was  nominated  as  a  member  of  the  administration  of  the  dis- 
trict of  Saumur,  and  exercised  a  pacific  influence  both  in 
politics  and  in  commerce.  Politically,  he  befriended  the 
ci-devants,  and  did  all  that  he  could  to  prevent  the  sale  of 
their  property ;  commercially,  he  contracted  to  supply  two 
thousand  hogsheads  of  white  wine  to  the  Republican  armies, 
taking  his  payment  for  the  aforesaid  hogsheads  in  the  shape 
of  certain  broad  acres  of  rich  meadow  land  belonging  to  a 
convent,  the  property  of  the  nuns  having  been  reserved  till 
the  last. 

In  the  days  of  the  Consulate,  Master  Grandet  became 
mayor;  acted  prudently  in  his  public  capacity,  and  did  very 
well  for  himself.  Times  changed,  the  Empire  was  established, 
and  he  became  Monsieur  Grandet.  But  M.  Grandet  had 
been  looked  upon  as  a  red  Republican,  and  Napoleon  had  no 
liking  for  Republicans,  so  the  mayor  was  replaced  by  a  large 
landowner,  a  man  with  a  de  before  his  name,  and  a  prospect 
of  one  day  becoming  a  baron  of  the  Empire.  M.  Grandet 
turned  his  back  upon  municipal  honors  without  a  shadow  of 
regret.  He  had  looked  well  after  the  interests  of  the  town 
during  his  term  of  office,  excellent  roads  had  been  made, 
passing  in  every  case  by  his  own  domains.  His  house  and 
land  had  been  assessed  very  moderately,  the  burden  of  the 
taxes  did  not  fall  too  grievously  upon  him ;  since  the  assess- 
ment, moreover,  he  had  given  ceaseless  attention  and  care  to 
the  cultivation  of  his  vines,  so  that  they  had  become  the  iite 
du  pays,  the  technical  term  for  those  vineyards  which  pro- 
duce wine  of  the  finest  quality.  He  had  a  fair  claim  to  the 
Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  and  he  received  it  in  1806. 

By  this  time  M.  Grandet  was  fifty-seven  years  old,  and  his 
wife  about  thirty-six.  The  one  child  of  the  marriage  was  a 
daughter,  a  little  girl  ten  years  of  age.  Providence  doubtless 
sought  to  console  M.  Grandet  for  his  official  downfall,  for  in 
this  year  he  succeeded  to  three  fortunes ;  the  total  value  was 
matter  for  conjecture,  no  certain  information  being  forthcom- 


8  EUG&NIE   GRANDET. 

ing.  The  first  fell  in  on  the  death  of  Mme.  de  la  Gaudi- 
nidre,  Mme.  Grandet's  mother;  the  deceased  lady  had  been 
a  de  la  Bertelliere,  and  her  father,  old  M.  de  la  Bertellidre, 
soon  followed  her ;  the  third  in  order  was  Mme.  Gentillet, 
M.  Grandet's  grandmother  on  the  mother's  side.  Old  M.  de 
la  Bertelliere  used  to  call  an  investment  **  throwing  money 
away;"  the  sight  of  his  hoards  of  gold  "repaid  him  better 
than  any  rate  of  interest  upon  it.  The  town  of  Saumur, 
therefore,  roughly  calculated  the  value  of  the  amount  that  the 
late  de  la  Bertelliere  was  likely  to  have  saved  out  of  his 
yearly  takings ;  and  M.  Grandet  received  a  new  distinction 
which  none  of  our  manias  for  equality  can  efface — he  paid 
more  taxes  than  any  one  else  in  the  country  round. 

He  now  cultivated  a  hundred  acres  of  vineyard  ;  in  a  good 
year  they  would  yield  seven  or  eight  hundred  puncheons. 
He  had  thirteen  little  farms,  an  old  abbey  (motives  of 
economy  had  led  him  to  wall  up  the  windows,  and  so  preserve 
the  traceries  and  stained  glass),  and  a  hundred  and  twenty- 
seven  acres  of  grazing  land,  in  which  three  thousand  poplars, 
planted  in  1793,  were  growing  taller  and  larger  every  year. 
Finally,  he  owned  the  house  in  which  he  lived. 

In  these  visible  ways  his  prosperity  had  increased.  As 
to  his  capital,  there  were  only  two  people  in  a  position  to 
make  a  guess  at  its  probable  amount.  One  of  these  was  the 
notary,  M,  Cruchot,  who  transacted  all  the  necessary  business 
whenever  M.  Grandet  made  an  investment ;  and  the  other 
was  M.  des  Grassins,  the  wealthiest  banker  in  the  town,  who 
did  Grandet  many  good  offices  which  were  unknown  to 
Saumur.  Secrets  of  this  nature,  involving  extensive  business 
transactions,  are  usually  well  kept ;  but  the  discreet  caution 
of  MM.  Cruchot  and  des  Grassins  did  not  prevent  them  from 
addressing  M.  Grandet  in  public  with  such  profound  deference 
that  close  observers  might  draw  their  own  conclusions. 
Clearly  the  wealth  of  their  late  mayor  must  be  prodigious 
indeed  that  he  should  receive  such  obsequious  attention. 


EUGENIE    GRAND ET.  9 

There  was  no  one  in  Saumur  who  did  not  fully  believe  the 
report  which  told  how,  in  a  secret  hiding-place,  M.  Grandet 
had  a  hoard  of  louis,  and  how  every  night  he  went  to  look  at 
it,  and  gave  himself  up  to  the  inexpressible  delight  of  gazing 
at  the  huge  heap  of  gold.  He  was  not  the  only  money-lover 
in  Saumur.  Sympathetic  observers  looked  at  his  eyes  and 
felt  that  the  story  was  true,  for  they  seemed  to  have  the  yellow 
metallic  glitter  of  the  coin  over  which  it  was  said  they  had 
brooded.  Nor  was  this  the  only  sign.  Certain  small  inde- 
finable habits,  furtive  movements,  slight  mysterious  prompt- 
ings of  greed  did  not  escape  the  keen  observation  of  fellow- 
worshipers.  There  is  something  vulpine  about  the  eyes  of  a 
man  who  lends  money  at  an  exorbitant  rate  of  interest ;  they 
gradually  and  surely  contract  like  those  of  the  gambler,  the 
sensualist,  or  the  courtier ;  and  there  is,  so  to  speak,  a  sort  of 
freemasonry  among  the  passions,  a  written  language  of  hiero- 
glyphs and  signs  for  those  who  can  read  them. 

M.  Grandet  therefore  inspired  in  all  around  him  the  re- 
spectful esteem  which  is  but  the  due  of  a  man  who  has  never 
owed  any  one  a  farthing  in  his  life  ;  a  just  and  legitimate 
tribute  to  an  astute  old  cooper  and  vine-grower  who  knew  be- 
forehand with  the  certainty  of  an  astronomer  when  five  hun- 
dred casks  would  serve  for  the  vintage,  and  when  to  have  a 
thousand  in  readiness ;  a  man  who  had  never  lost  on  any 
speculation,  who  had  always  a  stock  of  empty  barrels  when- 
ever casks  were  so  dear  that  they  fetched  more  than  the 
contents  were  worth  ;  who  could  store  his  vintage  in  his  own 
cellars,  and  afford  to  bide  his  time,  so  that  his  puncheons 
would  bring  him  in  a  couple  of  hundred  francs,  while  many 
a  little  proprietor  who  could  not  wait  had  to  be  content  with 
half  that  amount.  His  famous  vintage  in  the  year  1811, 
discreetly  held,  and  sold  only  as  good  opportunities  offered, 
had  been  worth  two  hundred  and  forty  thousand  livres  to 
him. 

In   matters   financial  M.   Grandet   might  be  described  as 


10  EUGENIE    GRANDET. 

combining  the  characteristics  of  the  Bengal  tiger  and  the  boa 
constrictor.  He  could  lay  low  and  wait,  crouching,  watching 
for  his  prey,  and  make  his  spring  unerringly  at  last ;  then  the 
jaws  of  his  purse  would  unclose,  a  torrent  of  coin  would  be 
swallowed  down,  and,  as  in  the  case  of  the  gorged  reptile, 
there  would  be  a  period  of  inaction  ;  like  the  serpent,  more- 
over, he  was  cold,  apathetic,  methodical,  keeping  to  his  own 
mysterious  times  and  seasons. 

No  one  could  see  the  man  pass  without  feeling  a  certain 
kind  of  admiration,  which  was  half-dread,  half-respect.  The 
tiger's  clutch  was  like  steel,  his  claws  were  sharp  and  swift ; 
was  there  any  one  in  Saumur  who  had  not  felt  them  ?  Such 
an  one,  for  instance,  wanted  to  borrow  money  to  buy  that 
piece  of  land  which  he  had  set  his  heart  upon  ;  M.  Cruchot 
had  found  the  money  for  him — at  eleven  per  cent.  And 
there  was  So-and-so  yonder ;  M.  des  Grassins  had  discounted 
his  bills,  but  it  was  at  a  ruinous  rate. 

There  were  not  many  days  when  M.  Grandet's  name  did 
not  come  up  in  conversation,  in  familiar  talk  in  the  evenings, 
or  in  the  gossip  of  the  town.  There  were  people  who  took  a 
kind  of  patriotic  pride  in  the  old  vine-grower's  wealth.  More 
than  one  innkeeper  or  merchant  had  found  occasion  to  remark 
to  a  stranger  with  a  certain  complacency,  **  There  are  mil- 
lionaires in  two  or  three  of  our  firms  here,  sir ;  but  as  for  M. 
Grandet,  he  himself  could  hardly  tell  you  how  much  he  was 
worth!" 

In  1816  the  shrewdest  heads  in  Saumur  set  down  the  value 
of  the  cooper's  landed  property  at  about  four  millions ;  but 
as,  to  strike  a  fair  average,  he  must  have  drawn  something 
like  a  hundred  thousand  francs  (they  thought)  from  his  prop- 
erty between  the  years  1793  and  1817,  the  amount  of  money 
he  possessed  must  nearly  equal  the  value  of  the  land.  So 
when  M.  Grandet's  name  was  mentioned  over  a  game  at 
boston,  or  a  chat  about  the  prospects  of  the  vines,  these  folk 
would  look  wise  and  remark,  "Who  is  that  you  are  talking 


EUGAATIE    GRAA'DET.  11 

of?  Old  Grandet?  Old  Grandet  must  have  five  or  six 
millions,  there  is  no  doubt  about  it." 

"  Then  you  are  cleverer  than  I  am  ;  I  have  never  been  able 
to  find  out  how  much  he  has,"  M.  Cruchot  or  M.  des 
Grassins  would  put  in,  if  they  overheard  the  speech. 

If  any  one  from  Paris  mentioned  the  Rothschilds  or  M. 
Laffitte,  the  good  people  in  Saumur  would  ask  if  any  of  those 
persons  were  as  rich  as  M.  Grandet  ?  And  if  the  Parisian 
should  answer  in  the  affirmative  with  a  pitying  smile,  they 
looked  at  one  another  incredulously  and  flung  up  their  heads. 
So  great  a  fortune  was  like  a  golden  mantle ;  it  covered  its 
owner  and  all  that  he  did.  At  one  time  some  of  the  eccen- 
tricities of  his  mode  of  life  gave  rise  to  laughter  at  his 
expense;  but  the  satire  and  the  laughter  had  died  out,  and 
M.  Grandet  still  went  his  way,  till  at  last  even  his  slightest 
actions  came  to  be  taken  as  precedents,  and  every  trifling 
thing  he  said  or  did  carried  weight.  His  remarks,  his  cloth- 
ing, his  gestures,  the  way  he  blinked  his  eyes,  had  all  been 
studied  with  the  care  with  which  a  naturalist  studies  the  work- 
ings of  instinct  in  some  wild  creature  ;  and  no  one  failed  to 
discern  the  taciturn  and  profound  wisdom  that  underlay  all 
these  manifestations. 

"We  shall  have  a  hard  winter,"  they  would  say;  "old 
Grandet  has  put  on  his  fur  gloves,  we  must  gather  the  grapes." 
Or,  "Goodman  Grandet  is  laying  in  a  lot  of  cask  staves; 
there  will  be  plenty  of  wine  this  year." 

M.  Grandet  never  bought  either  meat  or  bread.  Part  of 
his  rents  were  paid  in  kind,  and  every  week  his  tenants 
brought  in  poultry,  eggs,  butter,  and  wheat  sufficient  for  the 
needs  of  his  household.  Moreover,  he  owned  a  mill,  and  the 
miller,  besides  paying  rent,  came  over  to  fetch  a  certain 
quantity  of  corn,  and  brought  him  back  both  the  bran  and 
the  flour.  Big  Nanon,  the  one  maidservant,  baked  all  the 
bread  once  a  week  on  Saturday  mornings  (though  she  was  not 
so  young  as  she  had  been).     Others  of  the   tenants  were 


12  EUGENIE    GRANDET. 

market  gardeners,  and  M.  Grandet  had  arranged  that  these 
were  to  keep  him  supplied  with  fresh  vegetables.  Of  fruit 
there  was  no  lack ;  indeed,  he  sold  a  good  deal  of  it  in  the 
market.  Firewood  was  gathered  from  his  own  hedges,  or 
taken  from  old  stumps  of  trees  that  grew  by  the  sides  of  his 
fields.  His  tenants  chopped  up  the  wood,  carted  it  into  the 
town,  and  obligingly  stacked  his  faggots  for  him,  receiving  in 
return — his  thanks.  So  he  seldom  had  occasion  to  spend 
money.  His  only  known  items  of  expenditure  were  for  sacra- 
mental bread,  for  sittings  in  the  church  for  his  wife  and 
daughter,  their  dress,  Nanon's  wages,  renewals  of  the  linings 
of  Nanon's  saucepans,  repairs  about  the  house,  candles,  rates 
and  taxes,  and  the  necessary  outlays  of  money  for  improve- 
ments. He  had  recently  acquired  six  hundred  acres  of  wood- 
land, and,  being  unable  to  look  after  it  himself,  had  induced 
a  keeper  belonging  to  a  neighbor  to  attend  to  it,  promising  to 
repay  the  man  for  his  trouble.  After  this  purchase  had  been 
made,  and  not  before,  game  appeared  on  the  Grandets'  table. 
Grandet's  manners  were  distinctly  homely.  He  did  not  say 
very  much.  He  expressed  his  ideas,  as  a  rule,  in  brief,  sen- 
tentious phrases,  uttered  in  a  low  voice.  Sinct  the  time  of 
the  Revolution,  when  for  a  while  he  had  attracted  some  atten- 
tion, the  worthy  man  had  contracted  a  tiresome  habit  of 
stammering  as  soon  as  he  took  part  in  a  discussion  or  began 
to  speak  at  any  length.  He  had  other  peculiarities.  He 
habitually  drowned  his  ideas  in  a  flood  of  words  more  or  less 
incoherent ;  his  singular  inaptitude  for  reasoning  logically  was 
usually  set  down  to  a  defective  education  ;  but  this,  like  his 
unwelcome  fluency,  the  trick  of  stammering,  and  various 
other  mannerisms,  was  assumed,  and  for  reasons  which,  in  the 
course  of  the  story,  will  be  made  sufficiently  clear.  In  con- 
versation, moreover,  he  had  other  resources  :  four  phrases, 
like  algebraical  formulae,  which  fitted  every  case,  were  always 
forthcoming  to  solve  every  knotty  problem  in  business  or 
domestic  life — "I  do  not  know,"  "I  cannot  do  it,"  "I  will 


eugAnie  grand ET.  13 

have  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  and  "  We  shall  see."  He  never 
committed  himself;  he  never  said  yes  or  no;  he  never  put 
anything  down  in  writing.  He  listened  with  apparent  indif- 
ference when  he  was  spoken  to,  caressing  his  chin  with  his 
right  hand,  while  the  back  of  his  left  supported  his  elbow. 
When  once  he  had  formed  his  opinion  in  any  matter  of  busi- 
ness, he  never  changed  it ;  but  he  pondered  long  even  over 
the  smallest  transactions.  When  in  the  course  of  deep  and 
weighty  converse  he  had  managed  to  fathom  the  intentions  of 
an  antagonist,  who  meanwhile  flattered  himself  that  he  at 
last  knew  where  to  have  Grandet,  the  latter  was  wont  to  say, 
"  I  must  talk  it  over  with  my  wife  before  I  can  give  a  definite 
answer."  In  business  matters  the  wife,  whom  he  had  reduced 
to  the  most  abject  submission,  was  unquestionably  a  most  con- 
venient support  and  screen. 

He  never  paid  visits,  never  dined  away  from  home,  nor 
asked  any  one  to  dinner ;  his  movements  were  almost  noise- 
less ;  he  seemed  to  carry  out  his  principles  of  economy  in 
everything ;  to  make  no  useless  sound,  to  be  chary  of  spend- 
ing even  physical  energy.  His  respect  for  the  rights  of 
ownership  was  so  habitual  that  he  never  displaced  nor  dis- 
turbed anything  belonging  to  another.  And  yet,  in  spite  of 
the  low  tones  of  his  voice,  in  spite  of  his  discretion  and 
cautious  bearing,  the  cooper's  real  character  showed  itself  in 
his  language  and  manners,  and  this  was  more  especially  the 
case  in  his  own  house,  where  he  was  less  on  his  guard  than 
elsewhere. 

As  to  Grandet's  exterior.  He  was  a  broad,  square-shoul- 
dered, thick-set  man,  about  five  feet  high ;  his  legs  were  thin 
(he  measured  perhaps  twelve  inches  round  the  calves),  his 
knee-joints  large  and  prominent.  He  had  a  bullet-shaped 
head,  a  sun-burned  face,  scarred  with  the  smallpox,  and  a 
narrow  chin  ;  there  was  no  trace  of  a  curve  about  the  lines  of 
his  mouth.  He  possessed  a  set  of  white  teeth,  eyes  with  the 
expression  of  stony  avidity  in  them  with  which  the  basilisk  is 


14  EUG&NIE   GRANDET. 

credited,  a  deeply-furrowed  brow  on  which  there  were  promi- 
nences not  lacking  in  significance,  hair  that  had  once  been  of 
a  sandy  hue,  but  which  was  now  fast  turning  gray;  so  that 
thoughtless  youngsters,  rash  enough  to  make  jokes  on  so 
serious  a  subject,  would  say  that  M.  Grandet's  very  hair  was 
"gold  and  silver."  On  his  nose,  which  was  broad  and  blunt 
at  the  tip,  was  a  variegated  wen  ;  gossip  affirmed,  not  without 
some  appearance  of  truth,  that  spite  and  rancor  were  the  cause 
of  this  affection.  There  was  a  dangerous  cunning  about  this 
face,  although  the  man,  indeed,  was  honest  according  to  the 
letter  of  the  law ;  it  was  a  selfish  face ;  there  were  but  two 
things  in  the  world  for  which  its  owner  cared — the  delights 
of  hoarding  wealth,  in  the  first  place,  and,  in  the  second,  the 
only  being  who  counted  for  anything  in  his  estimation,  his 
daughter  Eugdnie,  his  only  child,  who  one  day  should  inherit 
that  wealth.  His  attitude,  manner,  bearing,  and  everything 
about  him  plainly  showed  that  he  had  the  belief  in  himself 
which  is  the  natural  outcome  of  an  unbroken  record  of  suc- 
cessful business  speculations.  Pliant  and  smooth-spoken 
though  he  might  appear  to  be,  M.  Grandet  was  a  man  of 
bronze.  He  was  always  dressed  after  the  same  fashion  ;  in 
1819  he  looked  in  this  respect  exactly  as  he  had  looked  at  any 
time  since  1791.  His  heavy  shoes  were  secured  by  leather 
laces;  he  wore  thick  woolen  stockings  all  the  year  round, 
knee  breeches  of  chestnut  brown  homespun,  silver  buckles,  a 
brown  velvet  waistcoat  adorned  with  yellow  stripes  and  but- 
toned up  to  the  throat,  a  loosely-fitting  coat  with  ample  skirts, 
a  black  cravat,  and  a  broad-brimmed  Quaker-like  hat.  His 
gloves,  like  those  of  the  gendarmerie,  were  chosen  with  a 
view  to  hard  wear ;  a  pair  lasted  him  nearly  two  years.  In 
order  to  keep  them  clean,  he  always  laid  them  down  on  the 
same  place  on  the  brim  of  his  hat,  till  the  action  had  come  to 
be  mechanical  with  him.  So  much,  and  no  more,  Saumur 
knew  of  this  her  citizen. 

A  few  fellow-townspeople,  six  in  all,  had  the  right  of  entry 


eug£nie  grandet.  15 

to  Grandet's  house  and  society.  First  among  these  in  order 
of  importance  was  M.  Cruchot's  nephew.  Ever  since  his  ap- 
pointment as  president  of  the  court  of  first  instance,  this  young 
man  had  added  the  appellation  "  de  Bonfons  "  to  his  original 
name  of  Cruchot ;  in  time  he  hoped  that  the  Bonfons  would 
efface  the  Cruchot,  when  he  meant  to  drop  the  Cruchot 
altogether,  and  was  at  no  little  pains  to  compass  this  end. 
Already  he  styled  himself  C.  de  Bonfons.  Any  litigant  who 
was  so  ill  inspired  as  to  address  him  in  court  as  *'  M.  Cruchot " 
was  soon  made  painfully  aware  that  he  had  blundered.  The 
magistrate  was  about  thirty-three  years  of  age,  and  the  owner 
of  the  estate  of  Bonfons  {Boni  Fontis),  which  brought  in 
annually  seven  thousand  livres.  In  addition  to  this  he  had 
prospects ;  he  would  succeed  some  day  to  the  property  of  his 
uncle  the  notary,  and  there  was  yet  another  uncle  besides,  the 
Abbd  Cruchot,  a  dignitary  of  the  chapter  of  Saint  Martin  of 
Tours ;  both  relatives  were  commonly  reported  to  be  men 
of  substance.  The  three  Cruchots,  with  a  goodly  number 
of  kinsfolk,  connected  too  by  marriage  with  a  score  of  other 
houses,  formed  a  sort  of  party  in  the  town,  like  the  family  of 
the  Medicis  in  Florence  long  ago ;  and,  like  the  Medicis,  the 
Cruchots  had  their  rivals — their  Pazzi. 

Mme.  des  Grassins,  the  mother  of  a  son  twenty-three  years 
of  age,  came  assiduously  to  take  a  hand  at  cards  with  Mme. 
Grandet,  hoping  to  marry  her  own  dear  Adolphe  to  Made- 
moiselle Eugenie.  She  had  a  powerful  ally  in  her  husband  the 
banker,  who  had  secretly  rendered  the  old  miser  many  a  ser- 
vice, and  who  could  give  opportune  aid  on  her  field  of  battle. 
The  three  des  Grassins  had  likewise  their  host  of  adherents, 
their  cousins  and  trusty  auxiliaries. 

The  Abbe  (the  Talleyrand  of  the  Cruchot  faction),  well 
supported  by  his  brother  the  notary,  closely  disputed  the 
ground  with  the  banker's  wife ;  they  meant  to  carry  off  the 
wealthy  heiress  for  their  nephew  the  president.  The  struggle 
between  the  two  parties  for  the  prize  of  the  hand  of  Eugenie 


16  EUG&XIE   GRANDET. 

Grandet  was  an  open  secret ;  all  Saumur  watched  it  with  the 
keenest  interest.  Which  would  Mile.  Grandet  marry?  Would 
it  be  M.  le  President  or  M.  Adolphe  des  Grassins  ?  Some  solved 
the  problem  by  saying  that  M. Grandet  would  give  his  daughter 
to  neither.  The  old  cooper  (said  they)  was  consumed  with 
an  ambition  to  have  a  peer  of  France  for  his  son-in-law,  and 
he  was  on  the  lookout  for  a  peer  of  France,  who  for  the  con- 
sideration of  an  income  of  three  hundred  thousand  livres 
would  find  all  the  past,  present,  and  future  barrels  of  the 
Grandets  no  obstacle  to  a  match.  Others  demurred  to  this, 
and  urged  that  both  M.  and  Mme.  des  Grassins  came  of  a 
good  family,  that  they  had  wealth  enough  for  anything,  that 
Adolphe  was  a  very  good-looking,  pretty  behaved  young  man, 
and  that  unless  the  Grandets  had  a  Pope's  nephew  somewhere 
in  the  background,  they  ought  to  be  satisfied  with  a  match  in 
every  way  so  suitable  ;  for  they  were  nobodies  after  all ;  all 
Saumur  had  seen  Grandet  going  about  with  an  adze  in  his 
hands,  and,  moreover,  he  had  worn  the  red  cap  of  Liberty  in 
his  time. 

The  more  astute  observers  remarked  that  M.  Cruchot  de 
Bonfons  was  free  of  the  house  in  the  High  Street,  while  his  rival 
only  visited  there  on  Sundays.  Some  maintained  that  Mme. 
des  Grassins,  being  on  more  intimate  terms  with  the  women 
of  the  house,  had  opportunities  of  inculcating  certain  ideas 
which  sooner  or  later  must  conduce  to  her  success.  Others 
retorted  that  the  Abb6  Cruchot  had  the  most  insinuating  man- 
ner in  the  world,  and  that  with  a  churchman  on  one  side  and 
a  woman  on  the  other  the  chances  were  about  even. 

**It  is  gown  against  cassock,"  said  a  local  wit. 

Those  whose  memories  went  farther  back  said  that  the 
Grandets  were  too  prudent  to  let  all  that  property  go  out  of 
the  family.  Mile.  Eugenie  Grandet  of  Saumur  would  be 
married  one  of  these  days  to  the  son  of  the  other  M.  Grandet 
of  Paris,  a  rich  wholesale  wine  merchant.  To  these  both 
Cruchotins  and  Grassinistes  were  wont  to  reply  as  follows : 


EUG&NIE   GRANDET.  17 

**  In  the  first  place,  the  brothers  have  not  met  twice  in 
thirty  years.  Then  M.  Grandet  of  Paris  is  ambitious  for  that 
son  of  his.  He  himself  is  mayor  of  his  division  of  the  depart- 
ment, a  deputy,  a  colonel  of  the  National  Guard,  and  a  judge 
of  the  tribunal  of  commerce.  He  does  not  own  to  any  rela- 
tionship with  the  Grandets  of  Saumur,  and  is  seeking  to  con- 
nect himself  with  one  of  Napoleon's  dukes." 

What  will  not  people  say  of  an  heiress  ?  Eugenie  Grandet 
was  a  stock  subject  of  conversation  for  twenty  leagues  round ; 
nay,  in  public  conveyances,  even  as  far  as  Angers  on  the  one 
hand  and  Blois  on  the  other  ! 

In  the  beginning  of  the  year  1811  the  Cruchotins  gained  a 
signal  victory  over  the  Grassinistes.  The  young  Marquis  de 
Froidfond  being  compelled  to  realize  his  capital,  the  estate 
of  Froidfond,  celebrated  for  its  park  and  its  handsome  chateau, 
was  for  sale ;  together  with  its  dependent  farms,  rivers,  fish- 
ponds, and  forest ;  altogether  it  was  worth  three  million  francs. 
M.  Cruchot,  President  Cruchot,  and  the  Abb6  Cruchot  by 
uniting  their  forces  had  managed  to  prevent  a  proposed 
division  into  small  lots.  The  notary  made  an  uncommonly 
good  bargain  for  his  client,  representing  to  the  young  Marquis 
that  the  purchase  money  of  the  small  lots  could  only  be  col- 
lected after  endless  trouble  and  expense,  and  that  he  would 
have  to  sue  a  large  proportion  of  the  purchasers  for  it ;  while 
here  was  M.  Grandet,  a  man  whose  credit  stood  high,  and 
who  was  moreover  ready  to  pay  for  the  land  at  once  in  hard 
coin,  it  would  be  better  to  take  M.  Grandet's  offer.  In  this 
way  the  fair  marquisate  of  Froidfond  was  swallowed  down  by 
M.  Grandet,  who,  to  the  amazement  of  Saumur,  paid  for  it  in 
ready  money  (deducting  discount  of  course)  as  soon  as  the 
required  formalities  were  completed.  The  news  of  this  trans- 
action traveled  far  and  wide ;  it  reached  Orleans,  it  was  spoken 
of  at  Nantes. 

M.  Grandet  went  to  see  his  chateau,  and  on  this  wise :  a 
cart  happened  to  be  returning  thither,  so  he  embraced  this 
2 


18  EUG&NIE   GRANDET. 

opportunity  of  visiting  his  newly-acquired  property,  and  took 
a  look  round  in  the  capacity  of  owner.  Then  he  returned  to 
Saumur,  well  convinced  that  this  investment  would  bring  him 
in  a  clear  five  per  cent.,  and  fired  with  a  magnificent  ambi- 
tion ;  he  would  add  his  own  bits  of  land  to  the  marquisate  of 
Froidfond,  and  everything  should  lie  within  a  ring  fence. 
For  the  present  he  would  set  himself  to  replenish  his  almost 
exhausted  coffers ;  he  would  cut  down  every  stick  of  timber  in 
his  copses  and  forests,  and  fell  the  poplars  in  his  meadows. 

It  is  easy  after  this  explanation  to  understand  all  that  was 
conveyed  by  the  words,  "  M.  Grandet's  house" — the  cold, 
dreary,  and  silent  house  at  the  upper  end  of  the  town,  under 
the  shadow  of  the  ruined  ramparts. 

Two  pillars  supported  the  arch  above  the  doorway,  and  for 
these,  as  also  for  the  building  of  the  house  itself,  a  porous 
crumbling  stone  peculiar  to  the  district  along  the  banks  of  the 
Loire  had  been  employed,  a  kind  of  tufa  so  soft  that  at  most 
it  scarcely  lasts  for  two  hundred  years.  Rain  and  frost  had 
gnawed  numerous  irregular  holes  in  the  surface,  with  a  curious 
effect ;  the  piers  and  the  voussoirs  looked  as  though  they  were 
composed  of  the  vermicular  stones  often  met  with  in  French 
architecture.  The  doorway  might  have  been  the  portal  of  a 
gaol.  Above  the  arch  there  was  a  long  sculptured  bas-relief 
of  harder  stone,  representing  the  four  seasons,  four  forlorn  fig- 
ures, aged,  blackened,  and  weather-worn.  Above  the  bas- 
relief  there  was  a  projecting  ledge  of  masonry  where  some 
chance-sown  plants  had  taken  root ;  yellow  pellitory,  bind- 
weed, a  plantain  or  two,  and  a  little  cherry  tree,  that  even 
now  had  reached  a  fair  height. 

The  massive  door  itself  was  of  dark  oak,  shrunk  and  warped, 
and  full  of  cracks ;  but,  feeble  as  it  looked,  it  was  firmly  held 
together  by  a  series  of  iron  nails  with  huge  heads,  driven  into 
the  wood  in  a  symmetrical  design.  In  the  middle  there  was 
a  small  square  grating  covered  with  rusty  iron  bars,  which 
served  as  an  excuse  for  a  door  knocker  which  hung  there  from 


EUGENIE    GRANDET.  19 

a  ring,  and  struck  upon  the  menacing  head  a  great  iron  bolt. 
The  knocker  itself,  oblong  in  shape,  was  of  the  kind  that  our 
ancestors  used  to  call  a  "  Jaquemart,"  and  not  unlike  a  huge 
note  of  admiration.  If  an  antiquary  had  examined  it  care- 
fully, he  might  have  found  some  traces  of  the  grotesque  human 
head  that  it  once  represented,  but  the  features  of  the  typical 
clown  had  long  since  been  effaced  by  constant  wear.  The 
little  grating  had  been  made  in  past  times  of  civil  war,  so  that 
the  household  might  recognize  their  friends  without  before 
admitting  them,  but  now  it  afforded  to  inquisitive  eyes  a  view 
of  a  dank  and  gloomy  archway,  and  a  flight  of  broken  steps 
leading  to  a  not  unpicturesque  garden  shut  in  by  thick  walls 
through  which  the  damp  was  oozing,  and  a  hedge  of  sickly- 
looking  shrubs.  The  walls  were  part  of  the  old  fortifications, 
and  up  above  on  the  ramparts  there  were  yet  other  gardens 
belonging  to  some  of  the  neighboring  houses. 

A  door  beneath  the  arch  of  the  gateway  opened  into  a  large 
parlor,  the  principal  room  on  the  ground  floor.  Few  people 
comprehend  the  importance  of  this  apartment  in  little  towns 
in  Anjou,  Berri,  and  Touraine.  The  parlor  is  also  the  hall, 
drawing-room,  study,  and  boudoir  all  in  one ;  it  is  the  stage 
on  which  the  drama  of  domestic  life  is  played,  the  very  heart 
and  centre  of  the  home.  Hither  the  hairdresser  repaired  once 
in  six  months  to  cut  M.  Grandet's  hair.  The  tenants  and  the 
cur6,  the  sous-prefet,  and  the  miller's  lad  were  all  alike  shown 
into  this  room.  There  were  two  windows  which  looked  out 
upon  the  street,  the  floor  was  boarded,  the  walls  were  paneled 
from  floor  to  ceiling,  covered  with  old  carvings,  and  painted 
gray.  The  rafters  were  left  visible,  and  were  likewise  painted 
gray,  the  plaster  in  intervening  spaces  was  yellow  with  age. 

An  old  brass  clock-case  inlaid  with  arabesques  in  tortoise- 
shell  stood  on  the  chimney-piece,  which  was  of  white  stone, 
and  adorned  with  rude  carvings.  Above  it  stood  a  mirror  of 
a  greenish  hue,  the  edges  were  beveled  in  order  to  display 
the  thickness  of  the  glass,  and  reflected  a  thin  streak  of  col- 


20  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

ored  light  into  the  room,  which  was  caught  again  by  the  pol- 
ished surface  of  another  mirror  of  Damascus  steel,  which  hung 
upon  the  wall. 

Two  branched  sconces  of  gilded  copper  which  adorned 
either  end  of  the  chimney-piece  answered  a  double  purpose. 
The  branch  roses  which  served  as  candle-sockets  were  remov- 
able, and  the  main  stem,  fitted  into  an  antique  copper  contri- 
vance on  a  bluish  marble  pedestal,  did  duty  as  a  candlestick 
for  ordinary  days. 

The  old-fashioned  chairs  were  covered  with  tapestry,  on 
which  the  fables  of  La  Fontaine  were  depicted ;  but  a  thor- 
ough knowledge  of  the  author  was  required  to  make  out  the 
subjects,  for  the  colors  had  faded  badly,  and  the  outlines  of 
the  figures  were  hardly  visible  through  a  multitude  of  darns. 
Four  sideboards  occupied  the  four  corners  of  the  room,  each 
of  these  articles  of  furniture  terminating  in  a  tier  of  very  dirty 
shelves.  An  old  inlaid  card-table  with  a  chess-board  marked 
out  upon  its  surface  stood  in  the  space  between  the  two  win- 
dows, and  on  the  wall,  above  the  table,  hung  an  oval  baro- 
meter in  a  dark  wooden  setting,  adorned  by  a  carved  bunch 
of  ribbons ;  they  had  been  gilt  ribbons  once  upon  a  time,  but 
generations  of  flies  had  wantonly  obscured  the  gilding,  till  its 
existence  had  become  problematical.  Two  portraits  in  pastel 
hung  on  the  wall  opposite  the  fireplace.  One  was  believed 
to  represent  Mme.  Grandet's  grandfather,  old  M.  de  la  Ber- 
tellidre,  as  a  lieutenant  in  the  Guards,  and  the  other  the  late 
Mme.  Gentillet,  as  a  shepherdess. 

Crimson  curtains  of  ^^7j//<f  Tl^wrj  were  hung  in  the  windows 
and  fastened  back  with  silk  cords  and  huge  tassels.  This  luxu- 
rious upholstery,  so  little  in  harmony  with  the  manners  and 
customs  of  the  Grandets,  had  been  included  in  the  purchase  of 
the  house,  like  the  pier-glass,  the  brass  timepiece,  the  tajjestry- 
covered  chairs,  and  the  rosewood  comer  sideboards.  In  the 
further  window  stood  a  straw-bottom  chair,  raised  on  blocks 
of  wood,  so  that  Mme.  Grandet  could  watch  the  passers-by 


eugAnie  GRANDET.  21 

as  she  sat.  A  work-table  of  cherry  wood,  bleached  and  faded 
by  the  light,  filled  the  other  window  space,  and  close  beside 
it  Eugenie  Grandet's  little  armchair  was  set. 

The  lives  of  mother  and  daughter  had  flowed  on  tran- 
quilly for  fifteen  years.  Day  after  day,  from  April  to  Novem- 
ber, they  sat  at  work  in  the  windows ;  but  the  first  day  of  the 
latter  month  found  them  beside  the  fire,  where  they  took  up 
their  positions  for  the  winter.  Grandet  would  not  allow  afire 
to  be  lighted  in  the  room  before  that  date,  nor  again  after  the 
31st  of  March,  let  the  early  days  of  spring  or  of  autumn  be 
cold  as  they  might.  Big  Nanon  managed  by  stealth  to  fill  a 
little  brasier  with  glowing  ashes  from  the  kitchen  fire,  and  in 
this  way  the  chilly  evenings  of  April  and  October  were  rend- 
ered tolerable  for  Mme.  and  Mile.  Grandet.  All  the  house- 
hold linen  was  kept  in  repair  by  the  mother  and  daughter; 
and  so  conscientiously  did  they  devote  their  days  to  this  duty 
(no  light  task  in  truth),  that  if  Eugenie  wanted  to  embroider 
a  collarette  for  her  mother  she  was  obliged  to  steal  the  time 
from  her  hours  of  slumber,  and  to  resort  to  a  deception  to 
obtain  from  her  father  the  candle  by  which  she  worked. 
For  a  long  while  past  it  had  been  the  miser's  wont  to 
dole  out  the  candles  to  his  daughter  and  big  Nanon  in 
the  same  way  that  he  gave  out  the  bread  and  the  other  matters 
daily  required  by  the  household. 

Perhaps  big  Nanon  was  the  one  servant  in  existence  who 
could  and  would  have  endured  her  master's  tyrannous  rule. 
Every  one  in  the  town  used  to  envy  M.  and  Mme.  Grandet. 
"Big  Nanon,"  so  called  on  account  of  her  height  of  five  feet 
eight  inches,  had  been  a  part  of  the  Grandet  household  for 
thirty-five  years.  She  was  held  to  be  one  of  the  richest 
servants  in  Saumur,  and  this  on  a  yearly  wage  of  seventy 
livres!  The  seventy  livres  had  accumulated  for  thirty-five 
years,  and  quite  recently  Nanon  had  deposited  four  thousand 
livres  with  M.  Cruchot  for  the  purchase  of  an  annuity.  This 
result  of  a  long  and  persevering  course  of  thrift  appealed  to 


22  EUGANIE   GRANDET. 

the  imagination — it  seemed  tremendous.  There  was  not  a 
maidservant  in  Saumur  but  was  envious  of  the  poor  woman, 
who  by  the  time  she  had  reached  her  sixtieth  year  would  have 
scraped  together  enough  to  keep  herself  from  want  in  her  old 
age;  but  no  one  thought  of  the  hard  life  and  all  the  toil 
which  had  gone  to  the  making  of  that  little  hoard. 

Thirty-five  years  ago,  when  Nanon  had  been  a  homely, 
hard-featured  girl  of  two-and-twenty,  she  had  not  been  able 
to  find  a  place  because  her  appearance  had  been  so  much 
against  her.  Poor  Nanon  !  it  was  really  very  hard.  If  her 
head  had  been  set  on  the  shoulders  of  a  grenadier  it  would 
"have  been  greatly  admired,  but  there  is  a  fitness  in  things,  and 
Nanon 's  style  of  beauty  was  inappropriate.  She  had  been  a 
herdswoman  on  a  farm  for  a  time,  till  the  farmhouse  had  been 
burnt  down,  and  then  it  was  that,  full  of  the  robust  courage 
that  shrinks  from  nothing,  she  came  to  seek  service  in  Saumur. 

At  that  time  M.  Grandet  was  thinking  of  marriage,  and 
already  determined  to  set  up  housekeeping.  The  girl,  wh« 
had  been  rebuffed  from  door  to  door,  came  under  his  notice. 
He  was  a  cooper,  and  therefore  a  good  judge  of  physical 
strength ;  he  foresaw  at  once  how  useful  this  feminine  Her- 
cules could  be,  a  strongly-made  woman  who  stood  planted  as 
firmly  on  her  feet  as  an  oak  tree  rooted  in  the  soil  where  it 
has  grown  for  two  generations,  a  woman  with  square  shoulders, 
large  hips,  and  hands  like  a  ploughman's,  and  whose  honesty 
was  as  unquestionable  as  her  virtue.  He  was  not  dismayed  by 
a  martial  countenance,  a  disfiguring  wart  or  two,  a  com- 
plexion like  burnt  clay,  and  a  pair  of  sinewy  arms ;  neither 
did  Nanon's  rags  alarm  the  cooper,  whose  heart  was  not  yet 
hardened  against  misery.  He  took  the  poor  girl  into  his  ser- 
vice, gave  her  food,  clothes,  shoes,  and  wages.  Nanon  found 
her  hard  life  not  intolerably  hard.  Nay,  she  secretly  shed 
tears  of  joy  at  being  so  treated ;  she  felt  a  sincere  attachment 
for  this  master,  who  expected  as  much  from  her  as  ever  feudal 
lord  required  of  a  serf. 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  8S 

Nanon  did  all  the  work  of  the  house.  She  did  the  cooking 
and  the  washing,  carrying  all  the  linen  down  to  the  Loire  and 
bringing  it  back  on  her  shoulders.  She  rose  at  daybreak  and 
went  to  bed  late.  It  was  she  who,  without  any  assistance, 
cooked  for  the  vintagers  in  the  autumn,  and  looked  sharply 
after  the  market-folk.  She  watched  over  her  master's  prop- 
erty like  a  faithful  dog,  and  with  a  blind  belief  in  him ;  she 
obeyed  his  most  arbitrary  commands  without  a  murmur — his 
whims  were  law  to  her. 

After  twenty  years  of  service,  in  the  famous  year  1811, 
when  the  vintage  had  been  gathered  in  after  unheard-of  toil 
and  trouble,  Grandet  made  up  his  mind  to  present  Nanon 
with  his  old  watch,  the  only  gift  she  had  ever  received  from 
him.  She  certainly  had  the  reversion  of  his  old  shoes  (which 
happened  to  fit  her),  but  as  a  rule  they  were  so  far  seen  into 
already  that  they  were  of  little  use  to  any  one  else,  and  could 
not  be  looked  upon  as  a  present.  Sheer  necessity  had  made 
the  poor  girl  so  penurious  that  Grandet  grew  quite  fond  of 
her  at  last,  and  regarded  her  with  the  same  sort  of  affection 
that  a  man  gives  to  his  dog;  and  as  for  Nanon,  she  cheer- 
fully wore  the  collar  of  servitude  set  round  with  spikes  that 
she  had  ceased  to  feel.  Grandet  might  stint  the  day's 
allowance  of  bread,  but  she  did  not  grumble.  Tlie  fare 
might  be  scanty  and  poor,  but  Nanon's  spirits  did  not  suffer, 
and  her  health  appeared  to  benefit ;  there  was  never  any 
illness  in  that  house. 

And  then  Nanon  was  one  of  the  family.  She  shared  every 
mood  of  Grandet's,  laughed  when  he  laughed,  was  depressed 
when  he  was  out  of  spirits,  took  her  views  of  the  weather  or 
of  the  temperature  from  him,  and  worked  with  him  and  for 
him.  This  equality  was  an  element  of  sweetness  which  made 
up  for  many  hardships  in  her  lot.  Out  in  the  vineyards  her 
master  had  never  said  a  word  about  the  small  peaches,  plums, 
or  nectarines  eaten  under  the  trees  that  are  planted  between 
the  rows  of  vines. 


24  EUG&NIE   GRANDET. 

"  Come,  Nanon,  take  as  much  as  you  like,"  he  would  say, 
in  years  when  the  branches  were  bending  beneath  their  load, 
and  fruit  was  so  abundant  that  the  farmers  round  about  were 
forced  to  give  it  to  the  pigs. 

For  the  peasant  girl,  for  the  outdoor  farm  servant,  who  had 
known  nothing  but  harsh  treatment  from  childhood,  for  the 
girl  who  had  been  rescued  from  starvation  by  charity,  old 
Grandet's  equivocal  laughter  was  like  a  ray  of  sunshine. 
Besides,  Nanon's  simple  nature  and  limited  intelligence  could 
only  entertain  one  idea  at  a  time ;  and  during  those  thirty- 
five  years  of  service  one  picture  was  constantly  present  to  her 
mind — she  saw  herself  a  barefooted  girl  in  rags  standing  at 
the  gate  of  M.  Grandet's  timber-yard,  and  heard  the  sound 
of  the  cooper's  voice,  saying,  "  What  is  it,  lassie  ?  "  and  the 
warmth  of  gratitude  filled  her  heart  to-day  as  it  did  then. 
Sometimes,  as  he  watched  her,  the  thought  came  up  in 
Grandet's  mind  how  that  no  syllable  of  praise  or  admiration 
had  ever  been  breathed  in  her  ears,  that  all  the  tender  feelings 
that  a  woman  inspires  had  no  existence  for  her,  and  that  she 
might  well  appear  before  God  one  day  as  chaste  as  the  Virgin 
Mary  herself.  And  such  times,  prompted  by  a  sudden  impulse 
of  pity,  he  would  exclaim,  "  Poor  Nanon  !  " 

The  remark  was  always  followed  by  an  indescribable  look 
from  the  old  servant.  The  words  so  spoken  from  time  to  time 
were  separate  links  in  a  long  and  unbroken  chain  of  friend- 
ship. But  in  this  pity  in  the  miser's  soul,  which  gave  a  thrill 
of  pleasure  to  the  lonely  woman,  there  was  something  inde- 
scribably revolting  ;  it  was  a  cold-blooded  pity  that  stirred  the 
cooper's  heart ;  it  was  a  luxury  that  cost  him  nothing.  But 
for  Nanon  it  meant  the  height  of  happiness  !  Who  will  not 
likewise  say,  **  Poor  Nanon  !  "  God  will  one  day  know  His 
angels  by  the  tones  of  their  voices  and  by  the  sorrow  hidden 
in  their  hearts. 

There  were  plenty  of  households  in  Saumur  where  servants 
were  better  treated,  but  where  their  employers,  nevertheless. 


EUG&NIE    GRANDET.  25 

enjoyed  small  comfort  in  return.  Wherefore  people  asked, 
"  What  have  the  Grandets  done  to  that  big  Nanon  of  theirs 
that  she  should  be  so  attached  to  them?  She  would  go 
through  fire  and  water  to  serve  them  ! ' ' 

Her  kitchen,  with  its  barred  windows  that  looked  out  into 
the  yard,  was  always  clean,  cold  and  tidy,  a  thorough  miser's 
kitchen,  in  which  nothing  was  allowed  to  be  wasted.  When 
Nanon  had  washed  her  plates  and  dishes,  put  the  remains  of 
the  dinner  into  the  safe,  and  raked  out  the  fire,  she  left  her 
kitchen  (which  was  only  separated  from  the  dining-room  by 
the  breadth  of  a  passage),  and  sat  down  to  spin  hemp  in  the 
company  of  her  employers,  for  a  single  candle  must  suffice  for 
the  whole  family  in  the  evening.  The  serving-maid  slept  in  a 
little  dark  closet  at  the  end  of  the  passage,  lit  only  by  a  bor- 
rowed light.  Nanon  had  an  iron  constitution  and  sound 
health,  which  enabled  her  to  sleep  with  impunity  year  after 
year  in  this  hole,  where  she  could  hear  the  slightest  sound  that 
broke  the  heavy  silence  brooding  day  and  night  over  the 
house  ;  she  lay  like  a  watch-dog,  with  one  ear  open  ;  she  was 
never  off  duty,  not  even  while  she  slept. 

Some  description  of  the  rest  of  the  house  will  be  necessary 
in  the  course  of  the  story  in  connection  with  later  events ;  but 
the  parlor,  wherein  all  the  splendor  and  luxury  of  the  house 
was  concentrated,  has  been  sketched  already,  and  the  empti- 
ness and  bareness  of  the  upper  rooms  can  be  surmised  for  the 
present. 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  November,  in  the  year  1819,  twi- 
light was  coming  on,  and  big  Nanon  was  lighting  a  fire  in  the 
parlor  for  the  first  time.  It  was  a  festival  day  in  the  calendar 
of  the  Cruchotins  and  Grassinistes,  wherefore  the  six  antago- 
nists were  preparing  to  set  forth,  all  armed  cap-a-pie,  for  a 
contest  in  which  each  side  meant  to  outdo  the  other  in  proofs 
of  friendship.  The  Grandet's  parlor  was  to  be  the  scene  of 
action.     That  morning  Mme.  and  Mile.  Grandet,  duly  at- 


26  EUG&NIE   GRANDET. 

tended  by  Nanon,  had  repaired  to  the  parish  church  to  hear 
mass.  All  Saumur  had  seen  them  go,  and  every  one  had  been 
put  in  mind  of  the  fact  that  it  was  Eugenie's  birthday.  M. 
Cruchotj  the  Abbe  Cruchot,  and  M.  C.  de  Bonfons,  therefore, 
having  calculated  the  hour  when  dinner  would  be  over,  were 
eager  to  be  first  in  the  field,  and  to  arrive  before  the  Grassi- 
nistes  to  congratulate  Mile,  Grandet.  All  three  carried  huge 
bunches  of  flowers  gathered  in  their  little  garden  plots,  but  the 
stalks  of  the  magistrate's  bouquet  were  ingeniously  bound 
round  by  a  white  satin  ribbon  with  a  tinsel  fringe  at  the  ends. 

In  the  morning  M.  Grandet  had  gone  to  Eugenie's  room 
before  she  had  left  her  bed,  and  had  solemnly  presented  her 
with  a  rare  gold  coin.  It  was  her  father's  wont  to  surprise 
her  in  this  way  twice  every  year — once  on  her  birthday,  once 
on  the  equally  memorable  day  of  her  patron  saint.  Mme. 
Grandet  usually  gave  her  daughter  a  winter  or  a  summer  dress, 
according  to  circumstances.  The  two  dresses  and  two  gold 
coins,  which  she  received  on  her  father's  birthday  and  on 
New  Year's  Day,  altogether  amounted  to  an  annual  income 
of  nearly  a  hundred  crowns ;  Grandet  loved  to  watch  the 
money  accumulating  in  her  hands.  He  did  not  part  with  his 
money;  he  felt  that  it  was  only  like  taking  it  out  of  one  box 
and  putting  it  into  another  ;  and  besides,  was  it  not,  so  to 
speak,  fostering  a  proper  regard  for  gold  in  his  heiress?  She 
was  being  trained  in  the  way  in  which  she  should  go.  Now 
and  then  he  asked  for  an  account  of  her  wealth  (formerly 
swelled  by  gifts  from  the  La  Bertellidres),  and  each  time  he 
did  so  he  used  to  tell  her,  "This  will  be  your  dozen  when 
you  are  married." 

The  dozen  is  an  old-world  custom  which  has  lost  none  of  its 
force,  and  is  still  religiously  adhered  to  in  several  midland 
districts  in  France.  In  Berri  or  Anjou,  when  a  daughter  is 
married,  it  is  incumbent  upon  her  parents,  or  upon  her  bride- 
groom's family,  to  give  her  a  purse  containing  either  a  dozen, 
or  twelve  dozen,  or  twelve  hundred  gold  or  silver  coins,  the 


EUG&NIE   CRANDET.  27 

amount  varying  with  the  means  of  the  family.  The  poorest 
herd-girl  would  not  be  content  without  her  dozen  when  she  mar- 
ried, even  if  she  could  only  bring  twelve  pence  as  a  dower. 
They  talk  even  yet  at  Issoudun  of  a  fabulous  dozen  once  given 
to  a  rich  heiress,  which  consisted  of  a  hundred  and  forty-four 
Portuguese  moidores;  and  when  Catherine  de  Medicis  was 
married  to  Henry  II.,  her  uncle,  Clement  VII.,  gave  the 
bride  a  dozen  antique  gold  medals  of  priceless  value. 

Eugenie  wore  her  new  dress  at  dinner,  and  looked  prettier 
than  usual  in  it ;  her  father  was  in  high  good-humor. 

"Let  us  have  a  fire,"  he  cried,  "as  it  is  Eugenie's  birth- 
day !     It  will  be  a  good  omen." 

*'  Mademoiselle  will  be  married  within  the  year,  that's  cer- 
tain," said  big  Nanon,  as  she  removed  the  remains  of  a  goose, 
that  pheasant  of  the  coopers  of  Saumur. 

"There  is  no  one  that  I  know  of  in  Saumur  who  would  do 
for  Eugenie,"  said  Mme.  Grandet,  with  a  timid  glance  at  her 
husband,  a  glance  that  revealed  how  completely  her  husband's 
tyranny  had  broken  the  poor  woman's  spirit. 

Grandet  looked  at  his  daughter,  and  said  merrily,  "We 
must  really  begin  to  think  about  her ;  the  little  girl  is  twenty- 
three  years  old  to-day." 

Neither  Eugenie  nor  her  mother  said  a  word,  but  they 
exchanged  glances ;  they  understood  each  other. 

Mme,  Grandet's  face  was  thin  and  wrinkled  and  yellow  as 
saffron  ;  she  was  awkward  and  slow  in  her  movements,  one 
of  those  beings  who  seem  born  to  be  tyrannized  over.  She 
was  a  large-boned  woman,  with  a  large  nose,  large  eyes,  and 
a  prominent  forehead ;  there  seemed  to  be,  at  first  sight,  some 
dim  suggestion  of  a  resemblance  between  her  and  some  shriv- 
eled, spongy,  dried-up  fruit.  The  few  teeth  that  remained  to 
her  were  dark  and  discolored ;  there  were  deep  lines  fretted 
about  her  mouth,  and  her  chin  was  something  after  the  "  nut- 
cracker "  pattern.  She  was  a  good  sort  of  a  woman,  and  a 
La  Bertelli^re  to  the  backbone.    The  Abb6  Cruchot  had  more 


28  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

than  once  found  occasion  to  tell  her  that  she  had  not  been  so 
bad  looking  when  she  was  young,  and  she  did  not  disagree 
with  him.  An  angelic  sweetness  of  disposition,  the  helpless 
meekness  of  an  insect  in  the  hands  of  cruel  children,  a  sin- 
cere piety,  a  kindly  heart,  and  an  even  temper  that  nothing 
could  ruffle  or  sour,had  gained  universal  respect  and  pity  for  her. 

Her  appearance  might  provoke  a  smile,  but  she  had  brought 
her  husband  more  than  three  hundred  thousand  francs,  partly 
as  her  dowry,  partly  through  bequests.  Yet  Grandet  never 
gave  his  wife  more  than  six  francs  at  a  time  for  pocket-money, 
and  she  always  regarded  herself  as  dependent  upon  her  hus- 
band. The  meek  gentleness  of  her  nature  forbade  any  revolt 
against  his  tyranny;  but  so  deeply  did  she  feel  the  humiliation 
of  her  position  that  she  never  asked  him  for  a  sou,  and  when 
M.  Cruchot  demanded  her  signature  to  any  document,  she 
always  gave  it  without  a  word.  This  foolish  sensitive  pride, 
which  Grandet  constantly  and  unwittingly  hurt,  this  magna- 
nimity which  he  was  quite  incapable  of  understanding,  were 
Mme.  Grandet' s  dominant  characteristics. 

Her  dress  never  varied.  Her  gown  was  always  of  the  same 
dull,  greenish  shade  of  laventine,  and  usually  lasted  her  nearly 
a  twelvemonth ;  the  large  handkerchief  at  her  throat  was  of  some 
kind  of  cotton  material ;  she  wore  a  straw  bonnet,  and  was  seldom 
seen  without  a  black  silk  apron.  She  left  the  house  so  rarely 
that  her  walking  shoes  were  seldom  worn  out ;  indeed,  her 
requirements  were  very  few,  she  never  wanted  anything  for 
herself.  Sometimes  it  would  occur  to  Grandet  that  it  was  a 
long  while  since  he  had  given  the  last  six  francs  to  his  wife, 
and  his  conscience  would  prick  him  a  little ;  and  after  the 
vintage,  when  he  sold  his  wine,  he  always  demanded  pin- 
money  for  his  wife  over  and  above  the  bargain.  These  four 
or  five  louis  out  of  the  pockets  of  the  Dutch  or  Belgian  mer- 
chants were  Mme.  Grandet's  only  certain  source  of  yearly 
income.  But  although  she  received  her  five  louis,  her  husband 
would  often  say  to  her,  as  if  they  had  one  common  purse. 


EUGENIE    GRANDET.  29 

*'  Have  you  a  few  sous  that  you  can  lend  me  ?  "  and  she,  poor 
woman,  glad  that  it  was  in  her  power  to  do  anything  for  the 
man  whom  her  confessor  always  taught  her  to  regard  as  her 
lord  and  master,  used  to  return  to  him  more  than  one  crown 
out  of  her  little  store  in  the  course  of  the  winter.  Every 
month,  when  Grandet  disbursed  the  five-franc  piece  which  he 
allowed  his  daughter  for  needles,  thread,  and  small  expenses 
of  dress,  he  remarked  to  his  wife  (after  he  had  buttoned  up 
his  pocket),  "And  how  about  you,  mother;  do  you  want 
anything?"  And  with  a  mother's  dignity  Mme.  Grandet 
would  answer,  "  We  will  talk  about  that  by-and-by,  dear." 

Her  magnanimity  was  entirely  lost  upon  Grandet;  he 
considered  that  he  did  very  handsomely  by  his  wife.  The 
philosophic  mind,  contemplating  the  Nanons,  the  Mme.  Gran- 
dets,  the  Eugenies  of  this  life,  holds  that  the  Author  of  the 
universe  is  a  profound  satirist,  and  who  will  quarrel  with  the 
conclusion  of  the  philosophic  mind  ?  After  the  dinner,  when 
the  question  of  Eugenie's  marriage  had  been  raised  for  the 
first  time,  Nanon  went  up  to  M.  Grandet's  room  to  fetch  a 
bottle  of  black-currant  cordial,  and  very  nearly  lost  her  footing 
on  the  staircase  as  she  came  down. 

"  Great  stupid  !  Are  you  going  to  take  to  tumbling  about  ?  " 
inquired  her  master. 

"It  is  all  along  of  the  step,  sir ;  it  gave  way.  The  staircase 
isn't  safe." 

"She  is  quite  right,"  said  Mme.  Grandet.  "You  ought 
to  have  had  it  mended  long  ago.  Eug6nie  all  but  sprained 
her  foot  on  it  yesterday." 

"  Here,"  said  Grandet,  who  saw  that  Nanon  looked  very 
pale,  "as  to-day  is  Eugenie's  birthday,  and  you  have  nearly 
fallen  downstairs,  take  a  drop  of  black-currant  cordial ;  that 
will  put  you  right  again." 

"  I  deserve  it,  too,  upon  my  word,"  said  Nanon,  "  Many  a 
one  would  have  broken  the  bottle  in  my  place  ;  I  should  have 
broken  my  elbow  first,  holding  it  up  to  save  it." 


30  EUGENIE    GRANDET. 

"  Poor  Nanon  !  "  muttered  Grandet,  pouring  out  the  black- 
currant cordial  for  her. 

"  Did  you  hurt  yourself?  "  asked  Eugenie,  looking  at  her 
in  concern. 

"No,  I  managed  to  break  the  fall ;  I  came  down  on  my 
side." 

"Well,"  said  Grandet,  "  as  to-day  is  Eugenie's  birthday, 
I  will  mend  your  step  for  you.  Somehow,  you  women-folk 
cannot  manage  to  put  your  foot  down  in  the  corner,  where  it 
is  still  solid  and  safe." 

Grandet  took  up  the  candle,  left  the  three  women  without 
any  other  illumination  in  the  room  than  the  bright  dancing 
firelight,  and  went  to  the  bakehouse,  where  tools,  nails,  and 
odd  pieces  of  wood  were  kept. 

"  Do  you  want  any  help?  "  Nanon  called  to  him,  when  the 
first  blow  sounded  on  the  staircase. 

"No!  no!  I  am  an  old  hand  at  it,"  answered  the 
cooper. 

At  this  very  moment,  while  Grandet  was  doing  the  repairs 
himself  to  his  worm-eaten  staircase,  and  whistling  with  all  his 
might  as  memories  of  his  young  days  came  up  in  his  mind, 
the  three  Cruchots  knocked  at  the  house-door. 

"  Oh,  it's  you,  is  it,  M.  Cruchot?  "  asked  Nanon,  as  she 
took  a  look  through  the  small  square  grating. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  magistrate. 

Nanon  opened  the  door,  and  the  glow  of  the  firelight  shone 
on  the  three  Cruchots,  who  were  groping  in  the  archway. 

"Oh!  you  have  come  to  help  us  keep  her  birthday," 
Nanon  said,  as  the  scent  of  flowers  reached  her. 

"  Excuse  me  a  moment,  gentlemen,"  cried  Grandet,  who 
recognized  the  voices  of  his  acquaintances;  "I  am  your  very 
humble  servant  !  There  is  no  pride  about  me ;  I  am  patching 
up  a  broken  stair  here  myself." 

"Go  on,  go  on,  M.  Grandet!  The  charcoal  burner  is 
mayor  in  his  own  house,"  said  the  magistrate  sententiously. 


EUGENIE    GRANDET.  31 

Nobody  saw  the  allusion,  and  he  had  his  laugh  all  to  himself. 
Mme.  and  Mile.  Grandet  rose  to  greet  them.  The  magistrate 
took  advantage  of  the  darkness  to  speak  to  Eugenie. 

"  Will  you  permit  me,  mademoiselle,  on  the  anniversary  of 
your  birthday,  to  wish  you  a  long  succession  of  prosperous 
years,  and  may  you  for  long  preserve  the  health  with  which 
you  are  blessed  at  present." 

He  then  offered  her  such  a  bouquet  of  flowers  as  was  seldom 
seen  in  Saumur;  and,  taking  the  heiress  by  both  arms,  gave  her 
a  kiss  on  either  side  of  the  throat,  a  fervent  salute  which 
brought  the  color  into  Eugenie's  face.  The  magistrate  was 
tall  and  thin,  somewhat  resembling  a  rusty  nail ;  this  was  his 
notion  of  paying  court. 

•*  Do  not  disturb  yourselves,"  said  Grandet,  coming  back 
into  the  room.  "  Fine  doings  these  of  yours,  M.  le  President, 
on  high  days  and  holidays  !  " 

"  With  mademoiselle  beside  him  every  day  would  be  a 
holiday  for  my  nephew,"  answered  the  Abbe  Cruchot,  also 
armed  with  a  bouquet;  and  with  that  the  Abb6  kissed 
Eugenie's  hand.  As  for  M.  Cruchot,  he  kissed  her  uncere- 
moniously on  both  cheeks,  saying,  "  This  sort  of  thing  makes 
us  feel  older,  eh  ?     A  whole  year  older  every  twelve  months." 

Grandet  set  down  the  candle  in  front  of  the  brass  clock  on 
the  chimney-piece ;  whenever  a  joke  amused  him  he  kept  on 
repeating  it  till  it  was  worn  threadbare  ;  he  did  so  now. 

"As  to-day  is  Eugenie's  birthday,"  he  said,  "  let  us  have 
an  illumination." 

He  carefully  removed  the  branches  from  the  two  sconces, 
fitted  the  sockets  into  either  pedestal,  took  from  Nanon's 
hands  a  whole  new  candle  wrapped  in  a  scrap  of  paper,  fixed 
it  firmly  in  the  socket,  and  lighted  it.  Then  he  went  over  to 
his  wife  and  took  up  his  position  beside  her,  looking  by  turns 
at  his  daughter,  his  friends,  and  the  two  lighted  candles. 

The  Abb6  Cruchot  was  a  fat,  dumpy  little  man  with  a  well- 
worn  sandy  peruke.     His  peculiar  type  of  face  might  have  be- 


32  EUGANIE   GRANDE  T. 

longed  to  some  old  lady  whose  life  is  spent  at  the  card-table. 
At  this  moment  he  was  stretching  out  his  feet  and  displaying  a 
very  neat  and  strong  pair  of  shoes  with  silver  buckles  on  them. 

"The  des  Grassins  have  not  come  round?  "  he  asked, 

"Not  yet,"  answered  Grandet. 

"Are  they  sure  to  come?"  put  in  the  old  notary,  with 
various  contortions  of  a  countenance  as  full  of  holes  as  a 
colander. 

"Oh  !  yes,  I  think  they  will  come,"  said  Mme,  Grandet. 

"Is  the  vintage  over?"  asked  President  de  Bonfons,  ad- 
dressing Grandet ;  "  are  all  your  grapes  gathered  ?  " 

"Yes,  everywhere  !  "  answered  the  old  vine-grower,  rising 
and  walking  up  and  down  the  length  of  the  room;  he  straight- 
ened himself  up  as  he  spoke  with  a  conscious  pride  that  ap- 
peared in  that  word  "  everywhere." 

As  he  passed  by  the  door  that  opened  into  the  passage, 
Grandet  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  kitchen ;  the  fire  was  still 
alight,  a  candle  was  burning  there,  and  big  Nanon  was  about 
to  begin  her  spinning  by  the  hearth;  she  did  not  wish  to 
intrude  upon  the  birthday  party. 

"Nanon!"  he  called,  stepping  out  into  the  passage. 
"Nanon  !  why  ever  don't  you  rake  out  the  fire;  put  out  the 
candle  and  come  in  here !  Pardieu  J  the  room  is  large 
enough  to  hold  lis  all." 

"But  you  are  expecting  grand  visitors,  sir." 

"  Have  you  any  objection  to  them  ?  They  are  all  de- 
scended from  Adam  just  as  much  as  you  are." 

Grandet  went  back  to  the  president. 

"  Have  you  sold  your  wine?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Not  I ;  I  am  holding  it.  If  the  wine  is  good  now,  it  will 
be  better  still  in  two  years'  time.  The  growers,  as  you  know, 
of  course,  are  in  a  ring,  and  mean  to  keep  prices  up.  The 
Belgians  shall  not  have  it  all  their  own  way  this  year.  And 
if  they  go  away,  well  and  good,  let  them  go ;  they  will  come 
back  again." 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  .   83 

"Yes;  but  we  must  hold  firm,"  said  Grandet  in  a  tone 
that  made  the  magistrate  shudder. 

"  Suppose  he  should  sell  his  wine  behind  our  backs?"  he 
thought. 

At  that  moment  another  knock  at  the  door  announced  the 
des  Grassins,  and  interrupted  a  quiet  talk  between  Mme. 
Grandet  and  the  Abbe  Cruchot. 

Mme.  des  Grassins  was  a  dumpy,  lively,  little  person  with 
a  pink-and-white  complexion,  one  of  those  women  for  whom 
the  course  of  life  in  a  country  town  has  flowed  on  with  almost 
claustral  tranquillity,  and  who,  thanks  to  this  regular  and 
virtuous  existence,  are  still  youthful  at  the  age  of  forty.  They 
are  something  like  the  late  roses  in  autumn,  which  are  fair 
and  pleasant  to  the  sight,  but  the  almost  scentless  petals  have 
a  pinched  look,  there  is  a  vague  suggestion  of  coming  winter 
about  them.  She  dressed  tolerably  well,  her  gowns  came  from 
Paris,  she  was  a  leader  of  society  in  Saumur,  and  received  on 
certain  evenings.  Her  husband  had  been  a  quartermaster  in 
the  Imperial  Guard,  but  he  had  retired  from  the  army  with  a 
pension,  after  being  badly  wounded  at  Austerlitz.  In  spite 
of  his  consideration  for  Grandet,  he  still  retained,  or  affected 
to  retain,  the  bluff  manners  of  a  soldier. 

"  Good-day,  Grandet,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand  to 
the  cooper  with  that  wonted  air  of  superiority  with  which  he 
eclipsed  the  Cruchot  faction.  "Mademoiselle,"  he  added, 
addressing  Eugenie,  after  a  bow  to  Mme.  Grandet,  "  you  are 
always  charming,  ever  good  and  fair,  and  what  more  can  one 
wish  you?" 

With  that  he  presented  her  with  a  small  box,  which  a 
servant  was  carrying,  and  which  contained  a  Cape  heath,  a 
plant  only  recently  introduced  into  Europe,  and  very  rare. 

Mme.  des  Grassins  embraced  Eugenie  very  affectionately, 
squeezed  her  hand,  and  said,  "I  have  commissioned  Adolphe 
to  give  you  my  little  birthday  gift." 

A  tall,  fair-haired  young  man,  somewhat  pallid  and  weakly 
3 


a4  EUGJ^NIE   GRANDE 7. 

in  appearance,  came  forward  at  this ;  his  manners  were  pass- 
ably good,  although  he  seemed  to  be  shy.  He  had  just  com- 
pleted his  law  studies  in  Paris,  where  he  had  managed  to 
spend  eight  or  ten  thousand  francs  over  and  above  his  allow- 
ance. He  now  kissed  Eugenie  on  both  cheeks,  and  laid  a 
workbox  with  gilded  silver  fittings  before  her ;  it  was  a  showy, 
trumpery  thing  enough,  in  spite  of  the  little  shield  on  the  lid, 
on  which  an  E.  G.  had  been  engraved  in  Gothic  characters,  a 
detail  which  gave  an  imposing  air  to  the  whole.  Eugenie 
raised  the  lid  with  a  little  thrill  of  pleasure,  the  happiness  was 
as  complete  as  it  was  unlooked  for — the  happiness  that  brings 
bright  color  into  a  young  girl's  face  and  makes  her  tremble 
with  delight.  Her  eyes  turned  to  her  father  as  if  to  ask 
whether  she  might  accept  the  gift ;  M.  Grandet  answered  the 
mute  inquiry  with  a  "  Take  it,  my  daughter !  "  in  tones  which 
would  have  made  the  reputation  of  an  actor.  The  three  Cru- 
chots  stood  dumfounded  when  they  saw  the  bright,  de- 
lighted glance  that  Adolphe  des  Grassins  received  from 
the  heiress,  who  seemed  to  be  dazzled  by  such  undreamed-of 
splendors. 

M.  des  Grassins  offered  his  snuff-box  to  Grandet,  took  a 
pinch  himself,  brushed  off  a  few  stray  specks  from  his  blue 
coat  and  from  the  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  at  his  but- 
ton-hole, and  looked  at  the  Cruchots,  as  though  to  say,  **  Parry 
that  thrust  if  you  can  !  "  Mme.  des  Grassins'  eyes  fell  on  the 
blue  glass  jars  in  which  the  Cruchots'  bouquets  had  been  set. 
She  looked  at  their  gifts  with  the  innocent  air  of  pretended 
interest  which  a  satirical  woman  knows  how  to  assume  upon 
occasion.  It  was  a  delicate  crisis.  The  Abb6  got  up  and  left 
the  others,  who  were  forming  a  circle  round  the  fire,  and 
joined  Grandet  in  his  promenade  up  and  down  the  room. 
When  the  two  elders  had  reached  the  embrasure  of  the  win- 
dow at  the  farther  end,  away  from  the  group  by  the  fire,  the 
priest  said  in  the  miser's  ear,  "  Those  people  yonder  are 
throwing  their  money  out  of  the  windows." 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  35 

"  What  does  that  matter  to  me,  so  long  as  it  comes  my 
way?"  the  old  vine-grower  answered. 

**  If  you  had  a  mind  to  give  your  daughter  golden  scissors, 
you  could  very  well  afford  it,"  said  the  Abbe. 

"  I  shall  give  her  something  better  than  scissors,"  Grandet 
answered. 

*•  What  an  idiot  my  nephew  is  !  "  thought  the  Abb6,  as  he 
looked  at  the  magistrate,  whose  dark,  ill-favored  countenance 
was  set  off  to  perfection  at  that  moment  by  a  shock  head  of 
hair.  "Why  couldn't  he  have  hit  on  some  expensive  piece 
of  foolery  ?  " 

"We  will  take  a  hand  at  cards,  Mme.  Grandet,"  said  Mme. 
des  Grassins. 

"  But  as  we  are  all  here,  there  are  enough  of  us  for  two 
tables " 

"  As  to-day  is  Eugenie's  birthday,  why  not  all  play  to- 
gether at  loto?"  said  old  Grandet;  "these  two  children 
could  join  in  the  game." 

Tlie  old  cooper,  who  never  played  at  any  game  whatever, 
pointed  to  his  daughter  and  Adolphe. 

"Here,  Nanon,  move  the  tables  out." 

"We  will  help  you,  Mademoiselle  Nanon,"  said  Mme.  des 
Grassins  cheerfully ;  she  was  thoroughly  pleased,  because  she 
had  pleased  Eugenie. 

"I  have  never  seen  anything  so  pretty  anywhere,"  the 
heiress  had  said  to  her.  "  I  have  never  been  so  happy  in  my 
life  before." 

"It  was  Adolphe  who  chose  it,"  said  Mme.  des  Grassins 
in  the  girl's  ear;   "he  brought  it  from  Paris." 

"Go  your  ways,  accursed  scheming  woman,"  muttered  the 
magistrate  to  himself.  "  If  you  or  your  husband  ever  find 
yourselves  in  a  court  of  law,  you  shall  be  hard  put  to  it  to 
gain  the  day." 

The  notary,  calmly  seated  in  his  corner,  watched  the  Abb6, 
and  said  to  himself,  "  The  des  Grassins  may  do  what  they  like ; 


86  eug£nie  grandet. 

my  fortune  and  my  brother's  and  my  nephew's  fortunes  alto- 
gether mount  up  to  eleven  hundred  thousand  francs.  The  des 
Grassins,  at  the  very  utmost,  have  only  half  as  much,  and  they 
have  a  daughter.  Let  them  give  whatever  they  like,  all  will 
be  ours  some  day — the  heiress  and  her  presents  too." 

Two  tables  were  in  readiness  by  half-past  eight  o'clock. 
Mme.  de  Grassins,  with  her  winning  ways,  had  succeeded  in 
placing  her  son  next  to  Eugenie.  The  actors  in  the  scene, 
so  commonplace  in  appearance,  so  full  of  interest  beneath  the 
surface,  each  provided  with  slips  of  pasteboard  of  various  col- 
ors and  blue  glass  counters,  seemed  to  be  listening  to  the  little 
jokes  made  by  the  old  notary,  who  never  drew  a  number 
without  making  some  remark  upon  it,  but  they  were  all  think- 
ing of  M.  Grandet's  millions.  The  old  cooper  himself  eyed 
the  group  with  a  certain  .self-complacency ;  he  looked  at  Mme. 
des  Grassins  with  her  pink  feathers  and  her  fresh  toilet,  at  the 
banker's  soldierly  face,  at  Adolphe,  at  the  magistrate,  at  the 
Abb6  and  the  notary,  and  within  himself  he  said:  "They 
are  all  after  my  crowns ;  that  is  what  they  are  here  for.  It 
is  for  my  daughter  that  they  come  to  be  bored  here.  Aha ! 
and  my  daughter  is  for  none  of  them,  and  all  these  people 
are  so  many  harpoons  to  be  used  in  my  fishing." 

The  merriment  of  this  family  party,  the  laughter,  only 
sincere  when  it  came  from  Eugenie  or  her  mother,  and  to 
which  the  low  whirring  of  Nanon's  spinning-wheel  made 
an  accompaniment,  the  sordid  meanness  playing  for  high 
stakes,  the  young  girl  herself,  like  some  rare  bird,  the  in- 
nocent victim  of  its  high  value,  tracked  down  and  snared 
by  specious  pretenses  of  friendship ;  taken  altogether,  it  was 
a  sorry  comedy  that  was  being  played  in  the  old  gray-painted 
parlor,  by  the  dim  light  of  the  two  candles.  Was  it  not, 
however,  a  drama  of  all  time,  played  out  everywhere  all  over 
the  world,  but  here  reduced  to  its  simplest  expression?  Old 
Grandet  towered  above  the  other  actors,  turning  all  this  sham 
aflFection  to  his  own  account,  and  reaping  a  rich  harvest  from 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  37 

this  simulated  friendship.  His  face  hovered  above  the  scene 
like  the  interpretation  of  an  evil  dream.  He  was  like  the 
incarnation  of  the  one  god  who  yet  finds  worshipers  in  mod- 
ern times,  of  money  and  the  power  of  wealth. 

With  him  the  gentler  and  sweeter  impulses  of  human  life 
only  occupied  the  second  place ;  but  they  so  filled  three  purer 
hearts  there  that  there  was  no  room  in  them  for  other 
thoughts — the  hearts  of  Nanon,  and  of  Eugenie  and  her 
mother.  And  yet,  how  much  ignorance  mingled  with  their 
innocent  simplicity  !  Eugenie  and  her  mother  knew  nothing 
of  Grandet's  wealth  \  they  saw  everything  through  a  medium 
of  dim  ideas,  peculiar  to  their  own  narrow  world,  and  neither 
desired  nor  despised  money,  accustomed  as  they  were  to  do 
without  it.  Nor  were  they  conscious  of  an  uncongenial  at- 
mosphere ;  the  strength  of  their  feeliTigs,  their  inner  life,  made 
of  them  a  strange  exception  in  this  gathering,  wholly  intent 
upon  material  interests.  Appalling  is  the  condition  of  man ; 
there  is  no  drop  of  happiness  in  his  lot  but  has  its  source 
in  ignorance. 

Just  as  Mme.  Grandet  had  won  sixteen  sous,  the  largest 
amount  that  had  ever  been  punted  beneath  that  roof,  and  big 
Nanon  was  beaming  with  delight  at  the  sight  of  Madame 
pocketing  that  splendid  sum,  there  was  a  knock  at  the  house- 
door,  so  sudden  and  so  loud  that  it  startled  the  women  for 
the  moment. 

"  No  one  in  Saumur  would  knock  in  that  way  !  "  said  the 
notary. 

"What  do  they  thump  like  that  for?"  said  Nanon.  "  Do 
they  want  to  break  our  door  down  ?  " 

"  Who  the  devil  is  it?"  cried  Grandet. 

Nanon  took  up  one  of  the  two  candles  and  went  to  open 
the  door.     Grandet  followed  her, 

"Grandet!  Grandet!"  cried  his  wife;  a  vague  terror 
seized  her,  and  she  hurried  to  the  door  of  the  room. 

The  players  all  looked  at  each  other. 


38  EUGENIE    GRANDE  T. 

"Suppose  we  go  too?"  said  M.  des  Grassins.  **  That 
knock  means  no  good,  it  seemed  to  me." 

But  M.  des  Grassins  scarcely  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  young 
man's  face  and  of  a  porter  who  was  carrying  two  huge  trunks 
and  an  assortment  of  carpet  bags,  before  Grandet  turned 
sharply  on  his  wife  and  said — 

**  Go  back  to  your  loto,  Mrae.  Grandet,  and  leave  me  to 
settle  with  this  gentleman  here." 

With  that  he  slammed  the  parlor  door,  and  the  loto  players 
sat  down  again,  but  they  were  too  much  excited  to  go  on  with 
the  game. 

"Is  it  any  one  who  lives  in  Saumur,  M.  des  Grassins?" 
his  wife  inquired. 

"  No,  a  traveler." 

"  Then  he  must  have  come  from  Paris." 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,"  said  the  notary,  drawing  out  a 
heavy  antique  watch,  a  couple  of  fingers'  breadth  in  thickness, 
and  not  unlike  a  Dutch  punt  in  shape,  "  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
it  is  nine  o'clock.  Feste  /  the  mail-coach  is  not  often  behind 
time." 

**  Is  he  young  looking?  "  put  in  the  Abbe  Cruchot. 

"  Yes,"  answered  M.  des  Grassins.  "  The  luggage  he  has 
with  him  must  weigh  three  hundred  kilos  at  least." 

"  Nanon  does  not  come  back,"  said  Eugenie. 

"It  must  be  some  relation  of  yours,"  the  president  re- 
marked. 

"Let  us  put  down  our  stakes,"  said  Mme.  Grandet  gently. 
"  M.  Grandet  was  vexed,  I  could  tell  that  by  the  sound  of  his 
voice,  and  perhaps  he  would  be  displeased  if  he  came  in  and 
found  us  all  discussing  his  affairs." 

"Mademoiselle,"  Adolphe  addressed  his  neighbor,  "it 
will  be  your  cousin  Grandet  no  doubt,  a  very  nice-looking 
young  fellow  whom  I  once  met  at  a  ball  at  M.  de  Nucin- 
gen  s. 

Adolphe  went  no  further,  his  mother  stamped  on  his  foot 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  39 

under  the  table.  Aloud,  she  asked  him  for  two  sous  for  his 
stake,  adding  in  an  undertone,  meant  only  for  his  ears, 
"  Will  you  hold  your  tongue,  you  great  silly !  " 

They  could  hear  the  footsteps  of  Nanon  and  the  porter  on 
the  staircase,  but  Grandet  returned  to  the  room  almost  imme- 
diately, and  just  behind  him  came  the  traveler  who  had 
excited  so  much  curiosity,  and  loomed  so  large  in  the  imagina- 
tions of  those  assembled ;  indeed,  his  sudden  descent  into 
their  midst  might  be  compared  to  the  arrival  of  a  snail  in  a 
beehive,  or  the  entrance  of  a  peacock  into  some  humdrum 
village  poultry-yard. 

"Take  a  seat  near  the  fire,"  said  Grandet,  addressing  the 
stranger. 

The  young  man  looked  round  the  room  and  bowed  very 
gracefully  before  seating  himself.  The  men  rose  and  bowed 
politely  in  return,  the  women  courtesied  rather  ceremoniously. 

"  You  are  feeling  cold,  I  expect,  sir,"  said  Mme.  Grandet ; 
**  you  have  no  doubt  come  from " 

"Just  like  the  women  !  "  broke  in  the  good  man,  looking 
up  from  the  letter  which  he  held  in  his  hand.  "  Do  let  the 
gentleman  have  a  little  peace." 

"But,  father,  perhaps  the  gentleman  wants  something  after 
his  journey,"  said  Eugenie. 

"  He  has  a  tongue  in  his  head,"  the  vine-grower  answered 
severely. 

The  stranger  alone  felt  any  surprise  at  this  scene,  the  rest 
were  quite  used  to  the  worthy  man  and  his  arbitrary  behavior. 
But  after  the  two  inquiries  had  received  the  summary  answers, 
the  stranger  rose  and  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  held  out 
a  foot  to  the  blaze,  so  as  to  warm  the  soles  of  his  boots,  and 
said  to  Eugenie,  "  Thank  you,  cousin,  I  dined  at  Tours.  And 
I  do  not  require  anything,"  he  added,  glancing  at  Grandet; 
**  I  am  not  in  the  least  tired." 

"  Do  you  come  from  Paris?  "  (it  was  Mm«.  des  Grassins 
who  now  put  the  inquiry). 


40  EUGENIE   GRANDE T. 

M.  Charles  (for  this  was  the  name  borne  by  the  son  of  M. 
Grandet  of  Paris),  hearing  some  one  question  him,  took  out  an 
eyeglass  that  hung  suspended  from  his  neck  by  a  cord,  fixed  it 
in  his  eye,  made  a  deliberate  survey  of  the  objects  upon  the 
table  and  of  the  people  sitting  round  it,  eyed  Mme.  des 
Grassins  very  coolly,  and  said  (when  he  had  completed  his 
survey),  "Yes,  madame.  You  are  playing  at  loto,  aunt,"  he 
added ;  **  pray  go  on  with  your  game,  it  is  too  amusing  to  be 
broken  off " 

"I  knew  it  was  the  cousin,"  thought  Mme.  des  Grassins, 
and  she  gave  him  a  side  glance  from  time  to  time. 

"  Forty-seven,"  cried  the  old  Abbe.  '*  Keep  count.  Mme. 
des  Grassins,  that  is  your  number,  is  it  not  ?  " 

M.  des  Grassins  put  down  a  counter  on  his  wife's  card ;  the 
lady  herself  was  not  thinking  of  loto,  her  mind  was  full  of 
melancholy  forebodings,  she  was  watching  Eugenie  and  the 
cousin  from  Paris.  She  saw  how  the  heiress  now  and  then 
stole  a  glance  at  her  cousin,  and  the  banker's  wife  could  easily 
discover  in  those  glances  a  crescendo  of  amazement  or  of 
curiosity. 

There  was  certainly  a  strange  contrast  between  M.  Charles 
Grandet,  a  handsome  young  man  of  two-and-twenty,  and  the 
worthy  provincials,  who,  tolerably  disgusted  already  with  his 
aristocratic  airs,  were  scornfully  studying  the  stranger  with  a 
view  to  making  game  of  him.     This  requires  some  explanation. 

At  two-and-twenty  childhood  is  not  so  very  far  away,  and 
youth,  on  the  borderland,  has  not  finally  and  forever  put  away 
childish  things;  Charles  Grandet's  vanity  was  childish,  but 
perhaps  ninety- nine  young  men  out  of  a  hundred  would  have 
been  carried  away  by  it  and  behaved  exactly  as  he  did. 

Some  days  previously  his  father  had  bidden  him  to  go  on  a 
visit  of  several  months  to  his  uncle  in  Saumur  ;  perhaps  M. 
Grandet  (of  Paris)  had  Eugenie  in  his  mind.  Charles, 
launched  in  this  way  into  a  country  town  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  had  his  own  ideas.     He  would  make  his  appearance  in 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  41 

provincial  society  with  all  the  superiority  of  a  young  man  of 
fashion  ;  he  would  reduce  the  neighborhood  to  despair  by  his 
splendor;  he  would  inaugurate  a  new  epoch,  and  introduce 
all  the  latest  and  most  ingenious  refinement  of  Parisian  luxury. 
To  be  brief,  he  meant  to  devote  more  time  at  Saumur  than  in 
Paris  to  the  care  of  his  nails,  and  to  carry  out  schemes  of  elab- 
orate and  studied  refinements  in  dress  at  his  leisure ;  there 
should  be  none  of  the  not  ungraceful  negligence  of  attire 
which  a  young  man  of  fashion  sometimes  affects. 

So  Charles  took  with  him  into  the  country  the  most  charm- 
ing of  shooting  costumes,  the  sweetest  thing  in  hunting-knives 
and  sheaths,  and  a  perfect  beauty  of  a  rifle.  He  packed  up  a 
most  tasteful  collection  of  waistcoats :  gray,  white,  black, 
beetle-green  shot  with  gold,  speckled  and  spangled ;  double 
waistcoats,  waistcoats  with  rolled  collars,  stand-up  collars, 
turned-down  collars,  open  at  the  throat,  buttoned  up  to  the 
chin  with  a  row  of  gold  buttons.  He  took  samples  of  all 
the  ties  and  cravats  in  favor  at  that  epoch.  He  took  two 
of  Buisson's  coats.  He  took  his  finest  linen,  and  the  dress- 
ing-case with  gold  fittings  that  his  mother  had  given  him. 
He  took  all  his  dandy's  paraphernalia,  not  forgetting  an 
enchanting  little  writing-case,  the  gift  of  the  most  amiable  of 
women  (for  him  at  least),  a  great  lady  whom  he  called  Annette, 
and  who  at  that  moment  was  traveling  with  her  husband  in 
Scotland,  a  victim  to  suspicions  which  demanded  the  tem- 
porary sacrifice  of  her  happiness. 

In  short,  his  cargo  of  Parisian  frivolities  was  as  complete  as 
it  was  possible  to  make  it ;  nothing  had  been  omitted,  from 
the  horsewhip,  useful  as  a  preliminary,  to  the  pair  of  richly- 
chased  and  mounted  pistols  that  terminate  a  duel.  There 
was  all  the  ploughing  gear  required  by  a  young  idler  in  the 
field  of  life. 

His  father  had  told  him  to  travel  alone  and  modestly,  and 
he  had  obeyed.  He  had  come  in  the  coup6  of  the  diligence, 
which  he  secured  all  to  himself;  and  was  not  ill-satisfied  to 


42  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

save  wear,  in  this  way,  to  a  smart  and  comfortable  traveling 
carriage  which  he  had  ordered,  and  in  which  he  meant  to  go 

to  meet  his  Annette,  the  aforesaid   great  lady  who etc., 

and  whom  he  was  to  rejoin  next  June  at  Baden-Baden. 

Charles  expected  to  meet  scores  of  people  during  his  visit 
to  his  uncle;  he  expected  to  have  some  shooting  on  his 
uncle's  land;  he  expected,  in  short,  to  find  a  large  house 
on  a  large  estate ;  he  had  not  thought  to  find  his  relatives 
in  Saumur  at  all ;  he  had  only  found  out  that  they  lived 
there  by  asking  the  way  to  Froidfond,  and  even  after  this 
discovery  he  expected  to  see  them  in  a  large  mansion.  But 
whether  his  uncle  lived  in  Saumur  or  at  Froidfond,  he  was 
determined  to  make  his  first  appearance  properly,  so  he  had 
assumed  a  most  fascinating  traveling  costume,  made  with  the 
simplicity  that  is  the  perfection  of  art,  a  most  adorable  crea- 
tion, to  use  the  word  which  in  those  days  expressed  superlative 
praise  of  the  special  qualities  of  a  thing  or  of  a  man.  At 
Tours  he  had  summoned  a  hairdresser,  and  his  handsome 
chestnut  hair  was  curled  afresh.  He  had  changed  his  linen 
and  put  on  a  black  satin  cravat,  which,  in  combination  with  a 
round  collar,  made  a  very  becoming  setting  for  a  pale  and 
satirical  face.  A  long  overcoat,  fitting  tightly  at  the  waist, 
gave  glimpses  of  a  cashmere  waistcoat  with  a  rolled  collar, 
and  beneath  this  again  a  second  waistcoat  of  some  white 
material.  His  watch  was  carelessly  thrust  into  a  side  pocket, 
and  save  in  so  far  as  a  gold  chain  secured  it  to  a  button-hole, 
its  continuance  there  appeared  to  be  purely  accidental.  His 
gray  trousers  were  buttoned  at  the  sides,  and  the  seams  were 
adorned  with  designs  embroidered  in  black  silk.  A  pair  of 
gray  gloves  had  nothing  to  dread  from  contact  with  a  gold- 
headed  cane,  which  he  managed  to  admiration.  A  discrim- 
inating taste  was  evinced  throughout  the  costume,  and  shone 
conspicuous  in  the  traveling  cap.  Only  a  Parisian,  and  a 
Parisian  moreover  from  some  remote  and  lofty  sphere,  could 
trick  himself  out  in  such  attire,  and  bring  all  its  absurd  details 


EUGENIE    GRANDET.  43 

into  harmony  by  coxcombry  carried  to  such  a  pitch  that  it 
ceased  to  be  ridiculous ;  this  young  man  carried  it  off,  more- 
over, with  a  swaggering  air  befitting  a  dead  shot,  conscious 
of  the  possession  of  a  handsome  pair  of  pistols  and  the  good 
graces  of  an  Annette. 

If,  moreover,  you  wish  to  thoroughly  understand  the  surprise 
with  which  the  Saumurois  and  the  young  Parisian  mutually 
regarded  each  other,  you  must  behold,  as  did  the  former,  the 
radiant  vision  of  this  elegant  traveler  shining  in  the  gloomy 
old  room,  as  well  as  the  figures  that  composed  the  family  pic- 
ture that  met  the  stranger's  eyes.  There  sat  the  Cruchots; 
try  to  imagine  them. 

To  begin  with,  all  three  took  snuff,  with  utter  disregard  of 
personal  cleanliness  or  of  the  black  deposit  with  which  their 
shirt  frills  were  encrusted.  Their  limp  silk  handkerchiefs  were 
twisted  into  a  thick  rope,  and  wound  tightly  about  their  necks. 
Their  collars  were  crumpled  and  soiled,  their  linen  was  dingy  ; 
there  was  such  a  vast  accumulation  of  underwear  in  their 
presses,  that  it  was  only  necessary  to  wash  twice  in  the  year, 
and  the  linen  acquired  a  bad  color  with  lying  by.  Age  and 
ugliness  might  have  wrought  together  to  produce  a  master- 
piece in  them.  Their  hard-featured,  furrowed,  and  wrinkled 
faces  were  in  keeping  with  their  creased  and  threadbare  cloth- 
ing, and  both  they  and  their  garments  were  worn,  shrunken, 
twisted  out  of  shape.  Dwellers  in  country  places  are  apt  to 
grow  more  or  less  slovenly  and  careless  of  their  appearance ; 
they  cease  by  degrees  to  dress  for  others ;  the  career  of  a  pair 
of  gloves  is  indefinitely  prolonged,  there  is  a  general  want  of 
freshness  and  a  decided  neglect  of  detail.  The  slovenliness 
of  the  Cruchots,  therefore,  was  not  conspicuous ;  they  were 
in  harmony  with  the  rest  of  the  company,  for  there  was  one 
point  on  which  both  Cruchotins  and  Grassinistes  were  agreed 
for  the  most  part — they  held  the  fashions  in  horror. 

The  Parisian  assumed  his  eyeglass  again  in  order  to  study 
the  curious  accessories  of  the  room;    his  eyes  traveled  over 


44  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

the  rafters  in  the  ceiling,  over  the  dingy  panels  covered  with 
fly-spots  in  sufficient  abundance  to  punctuate  the  whole  of  the 
"Encyclopedic  methodique  "  and  the  "Moniteur"  besides. 
The  loto  players  looked  up  at  this  and  stared  at  him ;  if  a 
giraffe  had  been  in  their  midst  they  could  hardly  have  gazed 
with  more  eager  curiosity.  Even  M.  des  Grassins  and  his  son, 
who  had  beheld  a  man  of  fashion  before  in  the  course  of  their 
lives,  shared  in  the  general  amazement ;  perhaps  they  felt  the 
indefinable  influence  of  the  general  feeling  about  the  stranger, 
perhaps  they  regarded  him  not  unapprovingly.  "  You  see 
how  they  dress  in  Paris,"  their  satirical  glances  seemed  to  say 
to  their  neighbors. 

One  and  all  were  at  liberty  to  watch  Charles  at  their 
leisure,  without  any  fear  of  offending  the  master  of  the  house, 
for  by  this  time  Grandet  was  deep  in  a  long  letter  which  he 
held  in  his  hand.  He  had  taken  the  only  candle  from  the 
table  beside  him,  without  any  regard  for  the  convenience  of 
his  guests  or  for  their  pleasure. 

It  seemed  to  Eugenie,  who  had  never  in  her  life  beheld 
such  a  paragon,  that  her  cousin  was  some  seraphic  vision,  some 
creature  fallen  from  the  skies.  The  perfume  exhaled  by  those 
shining  locks,  so  gracefully  curled,  was  delightful  to  her.  She 
would  fain  have  passed  her  fingers  over  the  delicate,  smooth 
surface  of  those  wonderful  gloves.  She  envied  Charles  his 
little  hands,  his  complexion,  the  youthful  refinement  of  his 
features.  In  fact,  the  sight  of  her  cousin  gave  her  the  same 
sensations  of  exquisite  pleasure  that  might  be  aroused  in  a 
young  man  by  the  contemplation  of  the  fanciful  portraits  of 
ladies  in  English  "Keepsakes,"  portraits  drawn  by  Westall 
and  engraved  by  Finden,  with  a  burin  so  skillful  that  you  fear 
to  breathe  upon  the  vellum  surface  lest  the  celestial  vision 
should  disappear.  And  yet — how  should  the  impression  pro- 
duced by  a  young  exquisite  upon  an  ignorant  girl  whose  life 
was  spent  in  darning  stockings  and  mending  her  father's 
clothes,  in  the  dirty  wainscoted  window  embrasure  whence,  in 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  45 

an  hour,  she  saw  scarcely  one  passer-by  in  the  silent  street, 
how  should  her  dim  impressions  be  conveyed  by  such  an 
image  as  this  ? 

Charles  drew  from  his  pocket  a  handkerchief  embroidered 
by  the  great  lady  who  was  traveling  in  Scotland.  It  was  a 
dainty  piece  of  work  wrought  by  love,  in  hours  that  were  lost 
to  love ;  Eugenie  gazed  at  her  cousin,  and  wondered,  was  he 
really  going  to  use  it  ?  Charles'  manners,  his  way  of  adjusting 
his  eyeglass,  his  superciliousness,  his  affectations,  his  manifest 
contempt  for  the  little  box  which  had  but  lately  given  so 
much  pleasure  to  the  wealthy  heiress,  and  which  in  his  eyes 
seemed  to  be  a  very  absurd  piece  of  rubbish ;  everything, 
in  short,  which  had  given  offense  to  the  Cruchots  and  the 
Grassinistes  pleased  Eugenie  so  much  that  she  lay  awake  for 
long  that  night  thinking  about  this  phoenix  of  a  cousin. 

Meanwhile  the  numbers  were  drawn  but  languidly,  and  very 
soon  the  loto  came  to  an  end  altogether.  Big  Nanon  came 
into  the  room  and  said  aloud,  "  Madame,  you  will  have  to 
give  me  some  sheets  to  make  the  gentleman's  bed." 

Mme.  Grandet  disappeared  with  Nanon,  and  Mme.  des 
Grassins  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  Let  us  keep  our  sous,  and  give 
up  the  game." 

Each  player  took  back  his  coin  from  the  chipped  saucer 
which  held  the  stakes.  Then  there  was  a  general  stir,  and  a 
wheeling  movement  in  the  direction  of  the  fire. 

"Is  the  game  over?"  inquired  Grandet,  still  reading  his 
letter. 

"Yes,  yes,"  answered  Mme.  des  Grassins,  seating  herself 
next  to  Charles. 

Eugenie  left  the  room  to  help  her  mother  and  Nanon, 
moved  by  a  thought  that  came  with  the  vague  feeling  that 
stirred  her  heart  for  the  first  time.  If  she  had  been  ques- 
tioned by  a  skillful  confessor,  she  would  have  no  doubt  ad- 
mitted that  her  thought  was  neither  for  Nanon  nor  for  her 
mother,  but  that  she  was  seized  with  a  restless  and  urgent 


46  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

desire  to  see  that  all  was  right  in  her  cousin's  room,  to  busy 
herself  on  her  cousin's  account,  to  see  that  nothing  was  for- 
gotten, to  think  of  everything  he  might  require,  and  to  make 
sure  that  it  was  there,  to  make  certain  that  everything  was  as 
neat  and  pretty  as  might  be.  She  alone,  so  Eugenie  thought 
already,  could  enter  into  her  cousin's  ideas  and  understand  his 
tastes. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  came  just  at  the  right  moment. 
Her  mother  and  Nanon  were  about  to  leave  the  room  in  the 
belief  that  it  was  all  in  readiness ;  Eugenie  convinced  them 
in  a  moment  that  everything  was  yet  to  do.  She  filled 
Nanon's  head  with  these  ideas :  the  sheets  had  not  been  aired, 
Nanon  must  bring  the  warming-pan,  there  were  ashes,  there 
was  a  fire  downstairs.  She  herself  covered  the  old  table  with 
a  clean  white  cloth,  and  told  Nanon  to  mind  and  be  sure  to 
change  it  every  morning.  There  must  be  a  good  fire  in  the 
room ;  she  overcame  her  mother's  objections,  she  induced 
Nanon  to  put  a  good  supply  of  firewood  outside  in  the  pas- 
sage, and  to  say  nothing  about  it  to  her  father.  She  ran 
downstairs  into  the  parlor,  sought  in  one  of  the  sideboards  for 
an  old  japanned  tray  which  had  belonged  to  the  late  M.  de  la 
Bertellidre,  and  from  the  same  source  she  procured  a  hexagonal 
crystal  glass,  a  little  gilt  spoon  with  almost  all  the  gilding 
rubbed  off,  and  an  old  slender-necked  glass  bottle  with  Cupids 
engraved  upon  it ;  these  she  deposited  in  triumph  on  a  corner 
of  the  chimney-piece.  More  ideas  had  crowded  up  in  her 
mind  during  that  one  quarter  of  an  hour  than  in  all  the  years 
since  she  had  come  into  the  world. 

"Mamma,"  she  began,  "he  will  never  be  able  to  bear 
the  smell  of  a  tallow  candle.  Suppose  that  we  buy  a  wax 
candle?" 

She  fled,  lightly  as  a  bird,  to  find  her  purse,  and  drew 
thence  the  five  francs  which  she  had  received  for  the  month's 
expenses. 

"  Here,  Nanon,  be  quick." 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  47 

"  But  what  will  your  father  say  ?  " 

This  dreadful  objection  was  raised  by  Mme.  Grandet,  when 
she  saw  her  daughter  with  an  old  Sevres  china  sugar-basin 
which  Grandet  had  brought  back  with  him  from  the  chiteau 
at  Froidfond. 

"And  where  is  the  sugar  to  come  from?"  she  went  on. 
"Are  you  mad?  " 

"  Nanon  can  easily  buy  the  sugar  when  she  goes  for  the 
candle,  mamma." 

"  But  how  about  your  father  ?  " 

"  Is  it  a  right  thing  that  his  nephew  should  not  have  a 
glass  of  eau  sucree  to  drink  if  he  happens  to  want  it  ?  Be- 
sides, he  will  not  notice  it." 

"Your  father  always  notices  things,"  said  Mme.  Grandet, 
shaking  her  head. 

Nanon  hesitated  ;  she  knew  her  master. 

"  Do  go,  Nanon  ;  it  is  my  birthday  to-day,  you  know  I  " 

Nanon  burst  out  laughing  in  spite  of  herself  at  the  first 
joke  her  young  mistress  had  ever  been  known  to  make,  and 
did  her  bidding. 

While  Eugenie  and  her  mother  were  doing  their  best  to 
adorn  the  room  which  M.  Grandet  had  allotted  to  his  nephew, 
Mme.  des  Grassins  was  bestowing  her  attention  on  Charles, 
and  making  abundant  use  of  her  eyes  as  she  did  so. 

"You  are  very  brave,"  she  said,  "to  leave  the  pleasures  of 
the  capital  in  winter  in  order  to  come  to  stay  in  Saumur. 
But  if  you  are  not  frightened  away  at  first  sight  of  us,  you 
shall  see  that  even  here  we  can  amuse  ourselves."  And  she 
gave  him  a  languishing  glance,  in  true  provincial  style. 

Women  in  the  provinces  are  wont  to  affect  a  demure  and 
staid  demeanor,  which  gives  a  furtive  and  eager  eloquence  to 
their  eyes,  a  peculiarity  which  may  be  noted  in  ecclesiastics, 
for  whom  every  pleasure  is  stolen  or  forbidden.  Charles  was 
so  thoroughly  out  of  his  element  in  this  room,  it  was  all  so 
far  removed  from  the  great  chateau  and  the  splendid  surround- 


48  EUGENIE    GRANDET. 

ings  in  which  he  had  thought  to  find  his  uncle,  that,  on  pay- 
ing closer  attention  to  Mme.  des  Grassins,  she  almost  re- 
minded him  of  Parisian  faces  half  obliterated  already  by 
these  strange,  new  impressions.  He  responded  graciously 
to  the  advances  which  had  been  made  to  him,  and  naturally 
they  fell  into  conversation. 

Mme.  des  Grassins  gradually  lowered  her  voice  to  tones 
suited  to  the  nature  of  her  confidences.  Both  she  and 
Charles  Grandet  felt  a  need  of  mutual  confidence,  of  explana- 
tions and  an  understanding ;  so  after  a  few  minutes  spent  in 
coquettish  chatter  and  jests  that  covered  a  serious  purpose,  the 
wily  provincial  dame  felt  free  to  converse  without  fear  of  being 
overheard,  under  cover  of  a  conversation  on  the  sale  of  the 
vintage,  the  one  all-absorbing  topic  at  that  moment  in 
Saumur. 

"If  you  will  honor  us  with  a  visit,"  she  said,  "you  will 
certainly  do  us  a  pleasure ;  my  husband  and  I  shall  be  very 
glad  to  see  you.  Our  salon  is  the  only  one  in  Saumur  where 
you  will  meet  both  the  wealthy  merchant  society  and  the 
noblesse.  We  ourselves  belong  in  a  manner  to  both  ;  they  do 
not  mix  with  each  other  at  all  except  at  our  house  ;  they  come 
to  us  because  they  find  it  amusing.  My  husband,  I  am  proud 
to  say,  is  very  highly  thought  of  in  both  circles.  So  we  will 
do  our  best  to  beguile  the  tedium  of  your  stay.  If  you  are 
going  to  remain  with  the  Grandets,  what  will  become  of  you  ! 
Bon  Dieu  !  Your  uncle  is  a  miser,  his  mind  runs  on  nothing 
but  his  vine-cuttings;  your  aunt  is  a  saint  who  cannot  put 
two  ideas  together ;  and  your  cousin  is  a  silly  little  thing,  a 
common  sort  of  girl,  with  no  breeding  and  no  money,  who 
spends  her  life  in  mending  dish-cloths." 

** 'Tis  a  very  pretty  woman,"  said  Charles  to  himself; 
Mme.  des  Grassins'  coquettish  glances  had  not  been  thrown 
away  upon  him. 

**  It  seems  to  me  that  you  mean  to  monopolize  the  gentle- 
man," said  the  big  banker,  laughing,  to  his  wife,  an  unlucky 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  49 

observation,  followed  by  remarks  more  or  less  spiteful  from 
the  notary  and  the  president ;  but  the  Abbe  gave  them  a 
shrewd  glance,  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  handed  his  snuff- 
box to  the  company,  while  he  gave  expression  to  their 
thoughts,  "Where  could  the  gentleman  have  found  any  one 
better  qualified  to  do  the  honors  of  Saumur?"  he  said. 

"Come,  Abbe,  what  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked  M. 
des  Grassins. 

"It  is  meant,  sir,  in  the  most  flattering  sense  for  you,  for 
madarae,  for  the  town  of  Saumur,  and  for  this  gentleman," 
added  the  shrewd  ecclesiastic,  turning  towards  Charles. 
Without  appearing  to  pay  the  slightest  heed  to  their  talk,  he 
had  managed  to  guess  the  drift  of  it. 

Adolphe  des  Grassins  spoke  at  last,  with  what  was  meant  to 
be  an  off-hand  manner.  "  I  do  not  know,"  he  said,  address- 
ing Charles,  "whether  you  have  any  recollection  of  me;  I 
once  had  the  pleasure  of  dancing  in  the  same  quadrille  at  a 
ball  given  by  M.  le  Baron  de  Nucingen,  and " 

"I  remember  it  perfectly,"  answered  Charles,  surprised  to 
find  himself  the  object  of  general  attention. 

"Is  this  gentleman  your  son?"  he  asked  of  Mme.  des 
Grassins. 

The  Abbe  gave  her  a  spiteful  glance. 

"  Yes,  I  am  his  mother,"  she  answered. 

"You  must  have  been  very  young  when  you  came  to 
Paris?  "   Charles  went  on,  speaking  to  Adolphe. 

"We  cannot  help  ourselves,  sir,"  said  the  Abb6.  "Our 
babes  are  scarcely  weaned  before  we  send  them  to  Babylon." 

Mme.  des  Grassins  gave  the  Abbe  a  strangely  penetrating 
glance  ;  she  seemed  to  be  seeking  the  meaning  of  those  words. 

"You  must  go  into  the  country,"  the  Abbe  went  on,  "if 
you  want  to  find  women  not  much  on  the  other  side  of  thirty, 
with  a  grown-up  son  a  licentiate  of  law,  who  look  as  fresh  and 
youthful  as  Mme.  des  Grassins.  It  only  seems  like  the  other 
day  when  the  young  men  and  the  ladies  stood  on  chairs  to  see 
4 


50  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

you  dance,  madame,"  the  Abbe  added,  turning  towards  his 
fair  antagonist;  "your  triumphs  are  as  fresh  in  my  memory 
as  if  they  had  happened  yesterday." 

"Oh!  the  old  wretch  !  "  said  Mine,  des  Grassins  to  her- 
self, " is  it  possible  that  he  has  guessed?  " 

"It  looks  as  though  I  should  have  a  great  success  in 
Saumur,"  thought  Charles.  He  unbuttoned  his  overcoat  and 
stood  with  his  hands  in  his  waistcoat  pocket,  gazing  into 
space,  striking  the  attitude  which  Chantrey  thought  fit  to 
give  to  Byron  in  his  statue  of  that  poet. 

Meanwhile  Grandet's  inattention,  or  rather  his  preoccupa- 
tion, during  the  reading  of  his  letter  had  escaped  neither  the 
notary  nor  the  magistrate.  Both  of  them  tried  to  guess  at 
the  contents  by  watching  the  almost  imperceptible  changes  in 
the  worthy  man's  face,  on  which  all  the  light  of  a  candle  was 
concentrated.  The  vine-grower  was  hard  put  to  it  to  preserve 
his  wonted  composure.  His  expression  must  be  left  to  the 
imagination,  but  here  is  the  fatal  letter : 

**  My  Brother: — It  is  nearly  twenty-three  years  now  since 
we  saw  each  other.  The  last  time  we  met  it  was  to  make 
arrangements  for  my  marriage,  and  we  parted  in  high  spirits. 
Little  did  I  then  think,  when  you  were  congratulating  your- 
self on  our  prosperity,  that  one  day  you  would  be  the  sole 
hope  and  stay  of  our  family.  By  the  time  that  this  letter  reaches 
your  hands,  I  shall  be  no  more.  In  my  position,  I  could  not 
survive  the  disgrace  of  bankruptcy ;  I  have  held  up  my  head 
above  the  surface  till  the  last  moment,  hoping  to  weather  the 
storm ;  it  is  all  of  no  use,  I  must  sink  now.  Just  after  the 
failure  of  my  stockbroker  came  the  failure  of  Roguin  (my 
notary)  ;  my  last  resources  have  been  swept  away,  and  I  have 
nothing  left.  It  is  my  heavy  misfortune  to  owe  nearly  four 
millions;  my  assets  only  amount  to  twenty-five  per  cent,  of 
my  debts.  I  hold  heavy  stocks  of  wine,  and,  owing  to  the 
abundance  and  good  quality  of  your  vintages,  they  have  fallen 


EUGENIE    GRANDET.  51 

ruinously  in  value.  In  three  days'  time  all  Paris  will  say, 
'  M.  Graudet  was  a  rogue ! '  and  I,  honest  though  I  am,  shall 
lie  wrapped  in  a  winding  sheet  of  infamy.  I  have  despoiled 
my  own  son  of  his  mother's  fortune  and  of  the  spotless  name 
on  which  I  have  brought  disgrace.  He  knows  nothing  of  all 
this — the  unhappy  child  whom  I  have  idolized.  Happily  for 
him,  he  did  not  know  when  we  bade  each  other  good-bye, 
and  my  heart  overflowed  with  tenderness  for  him,  how  soon 
it  should  cease  to  beat.  Will  he  not  curse  me  some  day? 
Oh  !  my  brother,  my  brother,  a  child's  curse  is  an  awful 
thing  !  If  we  curse  our  children,  they  may  appeal  against  us, 
but  their  curses  cling  to  us  for  ever  !  Grandet,  you  are  my 
older  brother,  you  must  shield  me  from  this;  do  not  let 
Charles  say  bitter  things  of  me  when  I  am  lying  in  my  grave. 
Oh  !  my  brother,  if  every  word  in  this  letter  were  written  in 
my  tears,  in  my  blood,  it  would  not  cost  me  such  bitter 
anguish,  for  then  I  should  be  weeping,  bleeding,  dying,  and 
the  agony  would  be  ended ;  but  now  I  am  still  suffering — I 
see  the  death  before  me  with  dry  eyes.  You  therefore  are 
Charles'  father  now  !  He  has  no  relations  on  his  mother's 
side  for  reasons  which  you  know.  Why  did  I  not  defer  to 
social  prejudices  ?  Why  did  I  yield  to  love  ?  Why  did  I 
marry  the  natural  daughter  of  a  noble  ?  Charles  is  the  last 
of  his  family ;  he  is  alone  in  the  world.     Oh  !  my  unhappy 

boy,  my  son  ! Listen,  Grandet,  I  am  asking  nothing  for 

myself,  and  you  could  scarcely  satisfy  my  creditors  if  you 
would ;  your  fortune  cannot  be  sufficient  to  meet  a  demand 
of  three  millions  ;  it  is  for  my  son's  sake  that  I  write.  You 
must  know,  my  brother,  that  as  I  think  of  you  my  petition  is 
made  with  clasped  hands ;  that  this  is  my  dying  prayer  to  you. 
Grandet,  I  know  that  you  will  be  a  father  to  him ;  I  know 
that  I  shall  not  ask  in  vain,  and  the  sight  of  my  pistols  does 
not  cause  me  a  pang. 

**  And  then  Charles  is  very  fond  of  me ;  I  was  kind  to  him, 
I  never  said  him  nay ;  he  will  not  curse  me  !     For  the  rest. 


52  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

you  will  see  how  sweet-tempered  and  obedient  he  is ;  he  takes 
after  his  mother ;  he  will  never  give  you  any  trouble,  poor 
boy  !  He  is  accustomed  to  luxurious  ways  ;  he  knows  noth- 
ing of  the  hardships  that  you  and  I  experienced  in  the  early 

days  when  we  were  poor And  now  he  has  not  a  penny, 

and  he  is  alone  in  the  world,  for  all  his  friends  are  sure  to 
leave  him,  and  it  is  I  who  have  brought  these  humiliations 
upon  him.  Ah  !  if  I  had  only  the  power  to  send  him  straight 
to  heaven  now,  where  his  mother  is  !  This  is  madness !  To 
go  back  to  my  misfortunes  and  Charles'  share  in  them.  I 
have  sent  him  to  you  so  that  you  may  break  the  news  of  my 
death  and  explain  to  him  what  his  future  must  be.  Be  a  father 
to  him ;  ah !  more  than  that,  be  an  indulgent  father !  Do 
not  expect  him  to  give  up  his  idle  ways  ail  at  once ;  it  would 
kill  him.  On  ray  knees  I  beg  him  to  renounce  all  claims  to 
his  mother's  fortune;  but  I  need  not  ask  that  of  him,  his 
sense  of  honor  will  prevent  him  from  adding  himself  to  the 
list  of  my  creditors ;  see  that  he  resigns  his  claims  when  the 
right  time  comes.  And  you  must  lay  everything  before  him, 
Grandet — the  struggle  and  the  hardships  that  he  will  have  to 
face  in  the  life  that  I  have  spoiled  for  him ;  and  then  if  he 
has  any  tenderness  still  left  for  me,  tell  him  from  me  that  all 
is  not  lost  for  him — be  sure  you  tell  him  that.  Work,  which 
was  our  salvation,  can  restore  the  fortune  which  I  have  lost ; 
and  if  he  will  listen  to  his  father's  voice,  which  would  fain 
make  itself  heard  yet  a  little  while  from  the  grave,  let  him 
leave  this  country  and  go  to  the  Indies  !  And,  brother,  Charles 
is  honest  and  energetic;  you  will  help  him  with  his  first  trad- 
ing venture,  I  know  you  will ;  he  would  die  sooner  than  not 
repay  you ;  you  will  do  as  much  as  that  for  him,  Grandet,  or 
you  will  lay  up  regrets  for  yourself.  Ah  !  if  my  boy  finds  no 
kindness  and  no  help  in  you,  I  shall  for  ever  pray  God  to 
punish  your  hard-heartedness.  If  I  could  have  withheld  a  few 
payments,  I  might  have  saved  a  little  sum  for  him — he  surely 
has  a  right  to  some  of  his  mother's  fortune — but  the  payments 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  53 

at  the  end  of  the  month  taxed  all  my  resources,  and  I  could 
not  manage  it.  I  would  fain  have  died  with  my  mind  at  rest 
about  his  future ;  I  wish  I  could  have  received  your  solemn 
promise,  coming  straight  from  your  hand  it  would  have  brought 
warmth  with  it  for  me;  but  time  presses.  Even  while  Charles 
is  on  his  way,  I  am  compelled  to  file  my  scliedule.  My  affairs 
are  all  in  order;  I  am  endeavoring  so  to  arrange  everything 
that  it  will  be  evident  that  my  failure  is  due  neither  to  care- 
lessness nor  to  dishonesty,  but  simply  to  disasters  which  I 
could  not  help.  Is  it  not  for  Charles'  sake  that  I  take  these 
pains  ?  Farewell,  my  brother.  May  God  bless  you  in  every 
way  for  the  generosity  with  which  you  (as  I  cannot  doubt)  will 
accept  and  fulfill  this  trust.  There  will  be  one  voice  that  will 
never  cease  to  pray  for  you  in  the  world  whither  we  must  all 
go  sooner  or  later,  and  where  I  am  even  now. 

Victor-Ange-Guillaume  Grandet. 

"  So  you  are  having  a  chat  ?  "  said  old  Grandet,  folding  up 
the  letter  carefully  in  the  original  creases,  and  putting  it  into 
his  waistcoat  pocket. 

He  looked  at  his  nephew  in  a  shy  and  embarrassed  way, 
seeking  to  dissemble  his  feelings  and  his  calculations. 

"  Do  you  feel  warmer  ?  " 

"  I  am  very  comfortable,  my  dear  uncle." 

"  Well,  whatever  are  the  women  after  ?  "  his  uncle  went  on  ; 
the  fact  that  his  nephew  would  sleep  in  the  house  had  by  that 
time  slipped  from  his  memory.  Eugenie  and  Mme.  Grandet 
came  into  the  room  as  he  spoke. 

"Is  everything  ready  upstairs?"  the  good  man  inquired. 
He  had  now  quite  recovered  himself,  and  recollected  the  facts 
of  the  case. 

"Yes,  father." 

"Very  well  then,  nephew,  if  you  are  feeling  tired,  Nanon 
will  show  you  to  your  room.  Lord  !  there  is  nothing  very 
smart  about  it,  but  you  will  overlook  that  here  among  poor 


54  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

vine-growers,  who  never  have  a  penny  to  bless  themselves 
with.     The  taxes  swallow  up  everything  we  have." 

"  We  don't  want  to  be  intrusive,  Grandet,"  said  the  banker. 
"  You  and  your  nephew  may  have  some  things  to  talk  over  ; 
we  will  wish  you  good-evening.     Good-bye  till  to-morrow." 

Every  one  rose  at  this,  and  took  leave  after  their  several 
fashions.  The  old  notary  went  out  under  the  archway  to  look 
for  his  lantern,  lighted  it,  and  offered  to  see  the  des  Grassins 
to  their  house.  Mme.  des  Grassins  had  not  been  prepared 
for  the  event  which  had  brought  the  evening  so  early  to  a 
close,  and  her  maid  had  not  appeared. 

"Will  you  honor  me  by  taking  my  arm,  madame?"  said 
the  Abbe  Cruchot,  addressing  Mme.  des  Grassins. 

"Thank  you,  M.  I'Abbe,"  said  the  lady  drily;  "  my  son 
is  with  me." 

"  I  am  not  a  compromising  acquaintance  for  a  lady,"  the 
Abbe  continued. 

**  Take  M.  Cruchot's  arm,"  said  her  husband. 

The  Abbd,  with  the  fair  lady  on  his  arm,  walked  on  quickly 
for  several  paces,  so  as  to  put  a  distance  between  them  and  the 
rest  of  the  party. 

"  That  young  man  is  very  good-looking,  madame,"  he  said, 
with  a  pressure  on  her  arm  to  give  emphasis  to  the  remark. 
**  'Tis  good-bye  to  the  baskets,  the  vintage  is  over  !  You  must 
give  up  Mile.  Grandet ;  Eugenie  is  meant  for  her  cousin. 
Unless  he  happens  to  be  smitten  with  some  fair  face  in  Paris, 
your  son  Adolphe  will  have  yet  another  rival " 

"Nonsense,  M.  I'Abbe." 

"  It  will  not  be  long  before  the  young  man  will  find  out 
that  Eugenie  is  a  girl  who  has  nothing  to  say  for  herself;  and 
she  has  gone  off  in  looks.  Did  you  notice  her  ?  She  was  as 
yellow  as  a  quince  this  evening." 

"  Which,  possibly,  you  have  already  pointed  out  to  her 
cousin  ? ' ' 

"  Indeed,  I  have  not  taken  the  trouble " 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  66 

"If  you  always  sit  beside  Eugenie,  madame,"  interrupted 
the  Abbe,  "you  will  not  need  to  tell  the  young  man  much 
about  his  cousin  ;  he  can  make  his  own  comparisons." 

"  He  promised  me  at  once  to  come  to  dine  with  us  the  day 
after  to-morrow." 

"  Ah  !  madame,"  said  the  Abbe,  "  if  you  would  only " 

"  Would  only  what,  M.  I'Abbe?  Do  you  mean  to  put  evil 
suggestions  into  my  mind  ?  I  have  not  come  to  the  age  of 
thirty-nine  with  a  spotless  reputation  (heaven  be  thanked)  to 
compromise  myself  now — not  for  the  empire  of  the  Great 
Mogul  !  We  are  both  of  us  old  enough  to  know  what  that 
kind  of  talk  means ;  and  I  must  say  that  your  ideas  do  not 
square  very  well  with  your  sacred  calling.  For  shame !  this 
is  worthy  of  '  Faublas. ' ' ' 

"  So  you  have  read  *  Faublas?  '  " 

"No,  M.  I'Abbe;  'Les  Liaisons  dangereuses '  is  what  I 
meant  to  say." 

"  Oh  !  that  book  is  infinitely  more  moral,"  said  the  Abb6, 
laughing.  "  But  you  would  make  me  out  to  be  as  depraved 
as  young  men  are  nowadays.     I  only  meant  that  you " 

"  Do  you  dare  to  tell  me  that  you  meant  no  harm  ?  The 
thing  is  plain  enough.  If  that  young  fellow  (who  certainly  is 
good-looking,  that  I  grant  you)  paid  court  to  me,  it  would 
not  be  for  the  sake  of  my  interest  with  that  cousin  of  his. 
In  Paris,  I  know,  there  are  tender  mothers  who  sacrifice  them- 
selves thus  for  their  children's  happiness  and  welfare,  but  we 
are  not  in  Paris,  M.  I'Abbd." 

"  No,  madame." 

"And,"  continued  she,  "neither  Adolphe  nor  I  would 
purchase  a  hundred  millions  at  such  a  price." 

"  Madame,  I  said  nothing  about  a  hundred  millions.  Per- 
haps such  a  temptation  might  have  been  too  much  for  either 
of  us.  Still,  in  my  opinion,  an  honest  woman  may  indulge 
in  a  little  harmless  coquetry,  in  the  strictest  propriety;  it  is 
a  part  of  her  social  duties,  and " 


M  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"Do  we  not  owe  it  to  ourselves,  madame,  to  endeavor  to 

be  as  agreeable  as  possible  to  others  ? Permit  me  to  blow 

my  nose.  Take  my  word  for  it,  madame,"  resumed  the 
Abbe,  "that  he  certainly  regarded  you  witli  rather  more 
admiration  than  he  saw  fit  to  bestow  on  me,  but  I  can  forgive 
him  for  honoring  beauty  rather  than  gray  hairs " 

"It  is  perfectly  clear,"  said  the  president  in  his  thick  voice, 
"why  M.  Grandet  of  Paris  is  sending  his  son  to  Saumur ;  he 
has  made  up  his  mind  to  make  a  match " 

"Then  why  should  the  cousin  have  dropped  from  the  skies 
like  this  ? ' '  answered  the  notary. 

"  There  is  nothing  in  that,"  remarked  M.  des  Grassins, 
"old  Grandet  is  so  close." 

"Des  Grassins,"  said  his  wife,  "I  have  asked  that  young 
man  to  come  and  dine  with  us.  So  you  must  go  to  M.  and 
Mme.  de  Larsonniere,  dear,  and  ask  them  to  come,  and  the 
du  Hautoys ;  and  they  must  bring  that  pretty  girl  of  theirs, 
of  course ;  I  hope  she  will  dress  herself  properly  for  once. 
Her  mother  is  jealous  of  her,  and  makes  her  look  such  a 
figure.  I  hope  that  you  gentlemen  will  do  us  the  honor  of 
coming  too?"  she  added,  stopping  the  procession  in  order  to 
turn  to  the  two  Cruchots,  who,  seeing  the  Abbe  in  conversa- 
tion with  Mme.  des  Grassins,  had  fallen  behind, 

"Here  we  are  at  your  door,  madame,"  said  the  notary. 
The  three  Cruchots  took  leave  of  the  three  des  Grassins,  and 
on  their  way  home  the  talent  for  pulling  each  other  to  pieces, 
which  provincials  possess  in  perfection,  was  fully  called  into 
play ;  the  great  event  of  the  evening  was  exhaustively  dis- 
cussed, and  all  its  bearings  upon  the  respective  positions  of 
Cruchotins  and  Grassinistes  were  duly  considered.  Clearly 
it  behooved  both  alike  to  prevent  Eugenie  from  falling  in  love 
with  her  cousin,  and  to  hinder  Charles  from  thinking  of 
Eugenie.  Sly  hints,  plausible  insinuations,  faint  praise,  vin- 
dications undertaken  with  an  air  of  candid  friendliness — what 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  67 

resistance  could  the  Parisian  offer  when  the  air  hurtled  with 
deceptive  weapons  such  as  these  ? 

As  soon  as  the  four  relatives  were  left  alone  in  the  great 
room,  M.  Grandet  spoke  to  his  nephew. 

"  We  must  go  to  bed.  It  is  too  late  to  begin  to  talk 
to-night  of  the  business  that  brought  you  here  j  to-morrow 
will  be  time  enough  for  that.  We  have  breakfast  here  at  eight 
o'clock.  At  noon  we  take  a  snatch  of  something,  a  little 
fruit,  a  morsel  of  bread,  and  a  glass  of  white  wine,  and,  like 
Parisians,  we  dine  at  five  o'clock.  That  is  the  way  of  it.  If 
you  care  to  take  a  look  at  the  town,  or  to  go  into  the  country 
round  about,  you  are  quite  free  to  do  so.  You  will  excuse 
me  if,  for  business  reasons,  I  cannot  always  accompany  you. 
Very  likely  you  will  be  told  hereabouts  that  I  am  rich;  'tis 
always  M.  Grandet  here  and  M.  Grandet  there.  I  let  them 
talk.  Their  babble  does  not  injure  my  credit  in  any  way. 
But  I  have  not  a  penny  to  bless  myself  with ;  and,  old  as  I 
am,  I  work  like  any  young  journeyman  who  has  nothing  in 
the  world  but  his  plane  and  a  pair  of  stout  arms.  Perhaps 
you  will  find  out  for  yourself  some  of  these  days  what  a  lot  of 
work  it  takes  to  earn  a  crown  when  you  have  to  toil  and  moil 
for  it  yourself.     Here,  Nanon,  bring  the  candles." 

"  I  hope  you  will  find  everything  you  want,  nephew,"  said 
Mme.  Grandet;  "but  if  anything  has  been  forgotten,  you 
will  call  Nanon." 

**  It  would  be  difficult  to  want  anything,  my  dear  aunt, 
for  I  believe  I  have  brought  all  my  things  with  me.  Per- 
mit me  to  wish  you  and  my  young  cousin  good-night." 

Charles  took  a  lighted  wax-candle  from  Nanon  ;  it  was  a 
commodity  of  local  manufacture,  which  had  grown  old  in  the 
shop,  very  dingy,  very  yellow,  and  so  like  the  ordinary  tallow 
variety  that  M.  Grandet  had  no  suspicion  of  the  article  of 
luxury  before  him  ;  indeed,  it  never  entered  into  his  head  to 
imagine  that  there  could  be  such  a  thing  in  the  house. 

"  I  will  show  you  the  way,"  said  the  good  man. 


58  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

One  of  the  doors  in  the  dining-room  gave  immediate 
access  to  the  archway  and  to  the  staircase  ;  but  to-night,  out 
of  compliment  to  his  guest,  Grandet  went  by  way  of  the 
passage  which  separated  the  kitchen  from  the  dining-room. 
A  folding-door,  with  a  large  oval  pane  of  glass  let  into  it, 
closed  in  the  passage  at  the  end  nearest  the  staircase,  an 
arrangement  intended  to  keep  out  the  blasts  of  cold  air  that 
rushed  through  the  archway.  With  a  like  end  in  view,  strips 
of  list  had  been  nailed  to  the  doors ;  but  in  winter  the  east 
wind  found  its  way  in,  and  whistled  none  the  less  shrewdly 
about  the  house,  and  the  dining-room  was  seldom  even  toler- 
ably warm. 

Nanon  went  out,  drew  the  bolts  on  the  entrance  gate, 
fastened  the  door  of  the  dining-room,  went  across  to  the 
stable  to  let  loose  a  great  wolf-dog  with  a  cracked  voice ;  it 
sounded  as  though  the  animal  was  suffering  from  laryngitis. 
His  savage  temper  was  well  known,  and  Nanon  was  the  only 
human  being  who  could  manage  him.  There  was  some  wild 
strain  in  both  these  children  of  the  fields ;  they  understood 
each  other. 

Charles  glanced  round  at  the  dingy  yellow  walls  and  smoke- 
begrimed  ceiling,  and  saw  how  the  crazy,  worm-eaten  stairs 
shook  beneath  his  uncle's  heavy  tread ;  he  was  fast  coming  to 
his  senses,  this  was  sober  reality  indeed  !  The  place  looked 
like  a  hen-roost.  He  looked  round  questioningly  at  the  faces 
of  his  aunt  and  cousin,  but  they  were  so  thoroughly  accus- 
tomed to  the  staircase  and  its  peculiarities  that  it  never 
occurred  to  them  that  it  could  cause  any  astonishment ;  they 
took  his  signal  of  distress  for  a  simple  expression  of  friendli- 
ness, and  smiled  back  at  him  in  the  most  amiable  way.  That 
smile  was  the  last  straw ;  the  young  man  was  at  his  wits' 
end. 

"  What  the  devil  made  my  father  send  me  here?  "  said  he 
to  himself. 

Arrived  on  the  first  landing,  he  saw  before  hira  three  doors 


EUG&NIE   GRANDET.  69 

painted  a  dull  red-brown  color;  there  were  no  mouldings 
round  any  of  them,  so  that  they  would  have  been  scarcely 
visible  in  the  dusty  surface  of  the  wall  if  it  had  not  been  for 
the  very  apparent  heavy  bars  of  iron  with  which  they  were 
embellished,  and  which  terminated  in  a  sort  of  rough  orna- 
mental design,  as  did  the  ends  of  the  iron  scutcheons  which 
surrounded  the  keyholes.  A  door  at  the  head  of  the  stairs, 
which  had  once  given  entrance  into  the  room  over  the  kitchen, 
was  evidently  blocked  up.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  only 
entrance  was  through  Grandet's  own  room,  and  this  room 
over  the  kitchen  was  the  vine-grower's  sanctum. 

Daylight  was  admitted  into  it  by  a  single  window  which 
looked  out  upon  the  yard,  and  which,  for  greater  security,  was 
protected  by  a  grating  of  massive  iron  bars.     The  master  of 
the  house  allowed  no  one,  not  even  Mme.   Grandet,  to  set 
foot  in  this  chamber;  he  kept  the  right  of  entry  to  himself, 
and  sat  there,  undisturbed  and  alone,  like  an  alchemist  in  the 
midst  of  his   crucibles.     Here,   no  doubt,   there  was  some 
cunningly-contrived   and   secret   hiding-place ;    for   here   he 
stored  up  the  title-deeds  of  his  estates ;  here,  too,  he  kept  the 
delicately-adjusted  scales  in  which  he  weighed  his  gold  louis; 
and  here  every  night  he  made  out  receipts,  wrote  acknowledg- 
ments of  sums  received,  and  laid  his  schemes,  so  that  other 
business  men  seeing  Grandet  never  busy,  and  always  prepared 
for  every  emergency,  might  have  been  excused  for  imagining 
that  he  had  a  fairy  or  familiar  spirit  at  his  beck  and  call. 
Here,   no  doubt,  when   Nanon's  snoring  shook  the  rafters, 
when  the  savage  watch-dog  bayed  and  prowled  about  the  yard, 
when  Mme.  Grandet  and  Eugenie  were  fast  asleep,  the  old 
cooper  would  come  to  be  with  his  gold,  and  hug  himself  upon 
it,  and  toy  with  it,  and  fondle  it,  and  brood  over  it,  and  so, 
with  the  intoxication  of  the  gold  upon  him,  at  last  to  sleep. 
The  walls  were  thick,  the  closed  shutters  kept  their  secret. 
He  alone  had  the  key  of  this  laboratory,  where,  if  reports 
spoke  truly,  he  pored  over  plans  on  which  every  fruit  tree 


60  EUG&NIE   GRANDET. 

belonging  to  him  was  mapped  out,  so  that  he  could  reckon 
out  his  crops,  so  much  to  every  vine  stem  ;  and  his  yield  of 
timber,  to  a  faggot. 

The  door  of  Eugenie's  room  was  opposite  this  closed-up 
portal,  the  room  occupied  by  M.  and  Mme.  Grandet  was  at 
the  end  of  the  landing,  and  consisted  of  the  entire  front  of 
the  house.  It  was  divided  within  by  a  partition,  Mme. 
Grandet's  chamber  was  next  to  Eugenie's,  with  which  it  com- 
municated by  a  glass  door ;  the  other  half  of  the  room, 
separated  from  the  mysterious  cabinet  by  a  thick  wall,  be- 
longed to  the  master  of  the  house.  Goodman  Grandet  had 
cunningly  lodged  his  nephew  on  the  second  story,  in  an  airy 
garret  immediately  above  his  own  room,  so  that  he  could  hear 
every  sound  and  inform  himself  of  the  young  man's  goings 
and  comings,  if  the  latter  should  take  it  into  his  head  to  leave 
his  quarters. 

Eugenie  and  her  mother,  arrived  on  the  first  landing, 
kissed  each  other  and  said  good-night ;  they  took  leave  of 
Charles  in  a  few  formal  words,  spoken  with  an  apparent 
indifference,  which  in  her  heart  the  girl  was  far  from  feeling, 
and  went  to  their  rooms. 

"This  is  your  room,  nephew,"  said  Grandet,  addressing 
Charles  as  he  opened  the  door.  "  If  you  should  wish  to  go 
out,  you  will  have  to  call  Nanon ;  for  if  you  don't  it  will  be 
*no  more  at  present  from  your  most  obedient,'  the  dog  will 
gobble  you  down  before  you  know  where  you  are.  Good- 
night, sleep  well.  Ha !  ha !  the  ladies  have  lighted  a  fire  in 
your  room,"  he  went  on. 

Just  at  that  moment  big  Nanon  appeared,  armed  with  a 
warming-pan. 

"  Did  any  one  ever  see  the  like  ?  "  said  M.  Grandet.  "  Do 
you  take  my  nephew  for  a  sick  woman ;  he  is  not  an  invalid. 
Just  be  off,  Nanon  !  you  and  your  hot  ashes." 

"  But  the  sheets  are  damp,  sir,  and  the  gentleman  looks  as 
delicate  as  a  woman." 


EUG&NIE    GRANDET.  61 

"All  right,  go  through  with  it,  since  you  have  taken  it  into 
your  head,"  said  Grandet,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  "but 
mind  you  don't  set  the  place  on  fire,"  and  the  miser  groped 
his  way  downstairs,  muttering  vaguely  to  himself. 

Charles,  breathless  with  astonishment,  was  left  among  his 
trunks.  He  looked  round  about  him,  at  the  sloping  roof 
of  the  attic,  at  the  wall-paper  of  a  pattern  peculiar  to  little 
country  inns,  bunches  of  flowers  symmetrically  arranged  on  a 
buff-colored  background  ;  he  looked  at  the  rough  stone  chim- 
ney-piece full  of  rifts  and  cracks  (the  mere  sight  of  it  sent  a 
chill  through  him,  in  spite  of  the  fire  in  the  grate),  at  the 
ramshackle  cane-seat  chairs,  at  the  open  night-table  large 
enough  to  hold  a  fair-sized  sergeant-at-arms,  at  the  strip  of 
worn  rag-carpet  beside  the  canopied  bedstead,  at  the  curtains 
wlaich  shook  every  moment  as  if  the  whole  worm-eaten 
structure  would  fall  to  pieces ;  finally,  he  turned  his  atten- 
tion to  big  Nanon,  and  said  earnestly — 

"  Look  here,  my  good  girl,  am  I  really  in  M.  Grandet's 
house  ?  M.  Grandet,  formerly  mayor  of  Saumur,  and  brother 
of  M.  Grandet  of  Paris?" 

**  Yes,  sir,  you  are  ;  and  you  are  staying  with  a  very  kind, 
a  very  amiable  and  excellent  gentleman.  Am  I  to  help  you 
to  unpack  those  trunks  of  yours?  " 

"  Faith,  yes,  old  soldier,  I  wish  you  would.  Did  you  serve 
in  the  horse  marines?" 

"Oh!  oh!  oh!"  chuckled  Nanon.  "What  may  they 
be  ?  What  are  the  horse  marines  ?  Are  they  old  salts  ?  Do 
they  go  to  sea?" 

"  Here,  look  out  my  dressing-gown  ;  it  is  in  that  portman- 
teau, and  this  is  the  key." 

Nanon  was  overcome  with  astonishment  at  the  sight  of  a 
green  silk  dressing-gown,  embroidered  with  gold  flowers  after 
an  antique  pattern. 

"  Are  you  going  to  sleep  in  that?  "  she  inquired. 

"Yes." 


62  EUG&NIE   GRANDET.     . 

*'  Holy  Virgin  !  What  a  beautiful  altar  cloth  it  would 
make  for  the  parish  church  !  Oh,  my  dear  young  gentleman, 
you  should  give  it  to  the  church,  and  you  will  save  your  soul, 
which  you  are  like  to  lose  for  that  thing.  Oh  !  how  nice  you 
look  in  it.     I  will  go  and  call  mademoiselle  to  look  at  you." 

"  Come  now,  NanoOj  since  that  is  your  name,  will  you 
hold  your  tongue,  and  let  me  go  to  bed.  I  will  set  my  things 
straight  to-morrow,  and  as  you  have  taken  such  a  fancy  to  my 
gown,  you  shall  have  a  chance  to  save  your  soul.  I  am  too 
good  a  Christian  to  take  it  away  with  me  when  I  go  ;  you  shall 
have  it,  and  you  can  do  whatever  you  like  with  it," 

Nanon  stood  stockstill,  staring  at  Charles ;  she  could  not 
bring  herself  to  believe  that  he  really  meant  what  he  said. 

**  You  are  going  to  give  that  grand  dressing-gown  to  me  .'" 
she  said,  as  she  turned  to  go.  "The  gentleman  is  dreaming 
already.     Good-night." 

"Good-night,  Nanon.  What  anyhow  am  I  doing  here?" 
said  Charles  to  himself,  as  he  dropped  off  to  sleep.  "  My 
father  is  no  fool ;  I  have  not  been  sent  here  for  nothing. 
Pooh!  'Serious  business  to-morrow,'  as  some  old  Greek 
wiseacre  used  to  say." 

" Sainte  Vierge !  how  nice  he  is!  "  said  Eugenie  to  her- 
self in  the  middle  of  her  prayers,  and  that  night  they  re- 
mained unfinished. 

Mme.  Grandet  alone  lay  down  to  rest,  with  no  thought  in 
her  quiet  mind.  Through  the  door  in  the  thin  partition  she 
could  hear  her  husband  pacing  to  and  fro  in  his  room.  Like 
all  sensitive  and  timid  women,  she  had  thoroughly  studied  the 
character  of  her  lord  and  master.  Just  as  the  sea-mew  fore- 
sees the  coming  storm,  she  knew  by  almost  imperceptible 
signs  that  a  tempest  was  raging  in  Grandet's  mind,  and,  to 
use  her  own  expression,  she  "lay  like  one  dead"  at  such 
seasons.  Grandet's  eyes  turned  towards  his  sanctum ;  he 
looked  at  the  door,  which  was  lined  with  sheet  iron  on  the 


EUGENIE    GRANDET.  63 

inner  side  (he  himself  had  seen  to  that),  and  muttered,  "  What 
a  preposterous  notion  this  is  of  my  brother's,  to  leave  his 
child  to  me  !  A  pretty  legacy  !  I  haven't  twenty  crowns  to 
spare,  and  what  would  twenty  crowns  be  to  a  popinjay  like 
that,  who  looked  at  my  weather-glass  as  if  it  wasn't  fit  to  light 
the  fire  with?" 

And  Grandet,  meditating  on  the  probable  outcome  of  this 
mournful  dying  request,  was  perhaps  more  perturbed  in  spirit 
than  the  brother  who  had  made  it. 

"  Shall  I  really  have  that  golden  gown  ?  "  Nanon  said, 
and  she  fell  asleep  wrapped  round  in  her  altar  cloth,  dream- 
ing for  the  first  time  in  her  life  of  shining  embroideries  and 
flowered  brocade,  just  as  Eugenie  dreamed  of  love. 

In  a  girl's  innocent  and  uneventful  life  there  comes  a 
mysterious  hour  of  joy  when  the  sunlight  spreads  through  the 
soul,  and  it  seems  to  her  that  the  flowers  express  the  thoughts 
that  rise  within  her,  thoughts  that  are  quickened  by  every 
heart-beat,  only  to  blend  in  a  vague  feeling  of  longing,  when 
the  days  are  filled  with  innocent  melancholy  and  delicious 
happiness.  Children  smile  when  they  see  the  light  for  the 
first  time,  and  when  a  girl  dimly  divines  the  presence  of  love 
in  the  world  she  smiles  as  she  smiled  in  her  babyhood.  If 
light  is  the  first  thing  that  we  learn  to  love,  is  not  love  like 
light  in  the  heart  ?  This  moment  had  come  for  Eugenie ;  she 
saw  the  things  of  life  clearly  for  the  first  time. 

Early  rising  is  the  rule  in  the  country,  so,  like  most  other 
girls,  Eugenie  was  up  betimes  in  the  morning;  this  morning 
she  rose  earlier  than  usual,  said  her  prayers,  and  began  to 
dress  ;  her  toilet  was  henceforth  to  possess  an  interest  unknown 
before.  She  began  by  brushing  her  chestnut  hair,  and  wound 
the  heavy  plaits  abdut  her  head,  careful  that  no  loose  ends 
should  escape  from  the  braided  coronet  which  made  an  appro- 
priate setting  for  a  face  both  frank  and  shy,  a  simple  coiffure 
which  harmonized  with  the  girlish  outlines. 

As  she  washed  her  hands  again  and  again  in  the  cold  spring 


64  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

water  that  roughened  and  reddened  the  skin,  she  looked  down 
at  her  pretty  rounded  arms  and  wondered  what  her  cousin  did 
to  have  hands  so  soft  and  so  white,  and  nails  so  shapely.  She 
put  on  a  pair  of  new  stockings,  and  her  best  shoes,  and  laced 
herself  carefully,  without  passing  over  a  single  eyelet-hole. 
For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  in  fact,  she  wished  to  look  her 
best,  and  felt  that  it  was  pleasant  to  have  a  pretty  new  dress  to 
wear,  a  becoming  dress  which  was  nicely  made. 

The  church  clock  struck  just  as  she  had  finished  dressing ; 
she  counted  the  strokes,  and  was  surprised  to  find  that  it  was 
still  only  seven  o'clock.  She  had  been  so  anxious  to  have 
plenty  of  time  for  her  toilet  that  she  had  risen  too  early,  and 
now  there  was  nothing  left  to  do.  Eugenie,  in  her  ignorance, 
never  thought  of  studying  the  position  of  a  tress  of  hair,  and 
of  altering  it  a  dozen  times  to  criticise  its  effect ;  she  simply 
folded  her  arms,  sat  down  by  the  window,  and  looked  out 
upon  the  yard,  the  long  strip  of  garden,  and  the  terraced 
gardens  up  above  upon  the  ramparts. 

It  was  a  somewhat  dreary  outlook  thus  shut  in  by  the  grim 
rock  walls,  but  not  without  a  charm  of  its  own,  the  mysterious 
beauty  of  quiet  overshaded  gardens,  or  of  wild  and  solitary 
places.  Under  the  kitchen  window  there  was  a  well  with  a 
stone  coping  round  it ;  a  pulley  was  suspended  above  the  water 
from  an  iron  bracket  overgrown  by  a  vine ;  the  vine  leaves 
were  red  and  faded  now  that  the  autumn  was  nearly  at  an  end, 
and  the  crooked  stem  was  plainly  visible  as  it  wound  its  way 
to  the  house  wall,  and  crept  along  the  house  till  it  came  to  an 
end  by  the  wood-stack,  where  the  faggots  were  arranged  with 
as  much  neatness  and  precision  as  the  volumes  on  some  book- 
lover's  shelves.  The  flagstones  in  the  yard  were  dark  with 
age  and  mosses,  and  dank  with  the  stagnant  air  of  the  place; 
weeds  grew  here  and  there  among  the  chinks.  The  massive 
outworks  of  the  old  fortifications  were  green  with  moss,  with 
here  and  there  a  long  dark  brown  streak  where  the  water 
dripped,  and  the  eight  tumble-down  steps,  which  gave  access 


EUG&NIE   GRANDET.  65 

to  the  garden  at  the  farther  end  of  the  yard,  were  almost 
hidden  by  a  tall  growth  of  plants ;  the  general  effect  of  the 
crumbling  stones  had  a  vague  resemblance  to  some  crusader's 
tomb  erected  by  his  widow  in  the  days  of  yore  and  long  since 
fallen  into  ruin. 

Along  the  low  mouldering  stone-wall  there  was  a  fence  of 
open  lattice-work,  rotten  with  age,  and  fast  falling  to  pieces ; 
overrun  by  various  creeping  plants  that  clambered  over  it  at 
their  own  sweet  will.  A  couple  of  stunted  apple  trees  spread 
out  their  gnarled  and  twisted  branches  on  either  side  of  the 
wicket  gate  that  led  into  the  garden — three  straight  gravel 
walks  with  strips  of  border  in  between,  and  a  line  of  box- 
edging  on  either  side ;  and  at  the  farther  end,  underneath 
the  ramparts,  a  sort  of  arbor  of  lime  trees,  and  a  row  of  rasp- 
berry canes.  A  huge  walnut  tree  grew  at  the  end  nearest  to 
the  house,  and  almost  overshadowed  the  cooper's  strong  room 
with  its  spreading  branches. 

It  was  one  of  those  soft  bright  autumn  mornings  peculiar 
to  the  districts  along  the  Loire ;  there  was  not  a  trace  of 
mist ;  the  light  frosty  rime  of  the  previous  night  was  rapidly 
disappearing  as  the  mild  rays  of  the  autumn  sun  shone  on  the 
picturesque  surroundings,  the  old  walls,  the  green  tangled 
growth  in  the  yard  and  garden. 

All  these  things  had  been  long  familiar  to  Eugenie's  eyes, 
but  to-day  it  seemed  to  her  that  there  was  a  new  beauty  about 
them.  A  throng  of  confused  thoughts  filled  her  mind  as  the 
sunbeams  overflowed  the  world  without.  A  vague,  inexplic- 
able new  happiness  stirred  within  her,  and  enveloped  her  soul, 
as  a  bright  cloud  might  cling  about  some  object  in  the  mate- 
rial world.  The  quaint  garden,  the  old  walls,  every  detail  in 
her  little  world  seemed  to  be  living  through  this  new  experi- 
ence with  her ;  the  nature  without  her  was  in  harmony  with 
her  inmost  thoughts.  The  sunlight  crept  along  the  wall  till 
it  reached  a  maiden-hair  fern  ;  the  changing  hues  of  a  pigeon's 
breast  shone  from  the  thick  fronds  and  glossy  stems,  and  all 
5 


ee  EUG&NIE   GRAND ET. 

Eugenie's  future  grew  bright  with  radiant  hopes.  Hence- 
forward the  bit  of  wall,  its  pale  flowers,  its  blue  harebells  and 
bleached  grasses,  was  a  pleasant  sight  for  her ;  it  called  up 
associations  which  had  all  the  charm  of  the  memories  of 
childhood. 

The  rustling  sound  made  by  the  leaves  as  they  fell  to  the 
earth,  the  echoes  that  came  up  from  the  court,  seemed  like 
answers  to  the  girl's  secret  questionings  as  she  sat  and  mused  ; 
she  might  have  stayed  there  by  the  window  all  day  and  never 
have  noticed  how  the  hours  went  by,  but  other  thoughts 
surged  up  within  her  soul.  Again  and  again  she  rose  and 
stood  before  the  glass,  and  looked  at  herself,  as  a  conscien- 
tious writer  scrutinizes  his  work,  criticises  it,  and  says  hard 
things  about  it  to  himself. 

**  I  am  not  pretty  enough  for  him  !  " 

This  was  what  Eugenie  thought,  in  her  humility,  and  the 
thought  was  fertile  in  suffering.  The  poor  child  did  not  do 
herself  justice ;  but  humility,  or,  more  truly,  fear,  is  born  with 
love.  Eugenie's  beauty  was  of  a  robust  type  often  found 
among  the  lower  middle  classes,  a  type  which  may  seem 
somewhat  wanting  in  refinement,  but  in  her  the  beauty  of  the 
Venus  of  Milo  was  ennobled  and  purified  by  the  beauty  of 
Christian  sentiment,  which  invests  woman  with  a  dignity 
unknown  to  ancient  sculptors.  Her  head  was  very  large  ;  the 
masculine  but  delicate  outlines  of  her  forehead  recalled  the 
Jupiter  of  Phidias ;  all  the  radiance  of  her  pure  life  seemed 
to  shine  from  the  clear  gray  eyes.  An  attack  of  smallpox,  so 
mild  that  it  had  left  no  scars  on  the  oval  face  or  features,  had 
yet  somewhat  blurred  their  fresh  fair  coloring,  and  coarsened 
the  smooth  and  delicate  surface,  still  so  fine  and  soft  that  her 
mother's  gentle  kiss  left  a  passing  trace  of  faint  red  on  her 
cheek.  Perhaps  her  nose  was  a  little  too  large,  but  it  did  not 
contradict  the  kindly  and  affectionate  expression  of  the  mouth, 
and  the  red  lips  covered  with  finely-etched  lines.  Her  throat 
was  daintily  rounded.     There  was  something  that  attracted 


EUGANIE   GRAXDET.  67 

attention  and  stirred  the  imagination  in  the  curving  lines  of 
her  figure,  covered  to  the  throat  by  her  high-necked  dress;  na 
doubt  she  possessed  little  of  the  grace  that  is  due  to  the 
toilet,  and  her  tall  frame  was  strong  rather  than  lissome,  but 
this  was  not  without  its  charm  for  judges  of  beauty. 

For  Eugenie  was  both  tall  and  strongly  built.  She  had 
nothing  of  the  prettiness  that  ordinary  people  admire ;  but 
her  beauty  was  unmistakable,  and  of  a  kind  in  which  artists 
alone  delight.  A  painter  in  quest  of  an  exalted  and  spiritual 
type,  searching  women's  faces  for  the  beauty  which  Raphael 
dreamed  of  and  conjured  into  being,  the  eyes  full  of  proud 
humility,  the  pure  outlines,  often  due  to  some  chance  inspir- 
ation of  the  artist,  but  which  a  virtuous  and  Christian  life  can 
alone  acquire  or  preserve — a  painter  haunted  by  this  ideal 
would  have  seen  at  once  in  Eugenie  Grandet's  face  her  uncon- 
scious and  innate  nobility  of  soul,  a  world  of  love  behind  the 
quiet  brow,  and  in  the  way  she  had  with  her  eyelids  and  in  her 
eyes  that  divine  something  which  baffles  description.  There 
was  a  serene  tranquillity  about  her  features,  unspoiled  and 
unwearied  by  the  expression  of  pleasure  ;  it  was  as  if  you 
watched,  across  some  placid  lake,  the  shadowy  outlines  of 
hills  far  off  against  the  sky.  The  beauty  of  Eugenie's  face, 
so  quiet  and  so  softly  colored,  was  like  that  of  some  fair,  half- 
opened  flower  about  which  the  light  seems  to  hover ;  in  its 
quality  of  restfulness,  its  subtle  revelation  of  a  beautiful  nature, 
lay  the  charnj  that  attracted  beholders.  Eugenie  was  still  on 
the  daisied  brink  of  life,  where  illusions  blossom  and  joys  are 
gathered  which  are  not  known  in  later  days.  So  she  looked 
in  the  glass,  and  with  no  thought  of  love  as  yet  in  her 
mind,  she  said,  "  He  will  not  give  me  a  thought ;  I  am  too 
ugly !  " 

Then  she  opened  her  door,  went  out  on  to  the  landing,  and 
bent  over  the  staircase  to  hear  the  sounds  in  the  house. 

"  He  is  not  getting  up  yet,"  she  thought.  She  heard  Nanon's 
morning  cough  as  the  good  woman  went  to  and  fro,  swept  ouL 


68  EUG&NIE   GRANDET. 

the  dining-room,  lit  tlie  kitchen  fire,  chained  up  the  dog,  and 
talked  to  her  friends  the  brutes  in  the  stable. 

Eugenie  fled  down  the  staircase,  and  ran  over  to  Nanon, 
who  was  milking  the  cow. 

"Nanon,"  she  cried,  "do  let  us  have  some  cream  for  my 
cousin's  coffee,  there's  a  dear." 

"But,  mademoiselle,  you  can't  have  cream  off  this  morn- 
ing's milk,"  said  Nanon,  as  she  burst  out  laughing.  "  I  can't 
make  cream  for  you.  Your  cousin  is  as  charming  as  charming 
can  be,  that  he  is  !  You  haven't  seen  him  in  that  silk  night 
rail  of  his,  all  flowers  and  gold  !  I  did  though  !  The  linen 
he  wears  is  every  bit  as  fine  as  M.  le  Cure's  surplice." 

"  Nanon,  make  some  cake  for  us." 

"  And  who  is  to  find  the  wood  to  heat  the  oven  and  the 
flour  and  the  butter?"  asked  Nanon,  who  in  her  capacity  of 
Grandet's  prime  minister  was  a  person  of  immense  importance 
in  Eugenie's  eyes,  and  even  in  Eugenie's  mother's.  "  Is  he 
to  be  robbed  to  make  a  feast  for  your  cousin  ?  Ask  for  the 
butter  and  the  flour  and  the  firewood ;  he  is  your  father,  go 
and  ask  him,  he  may  give  them  to  you.  There  1  there  he  is, 
just  coming  downstairs  to  see  after  the  provisions " 

But  Eugenie  had  escaped  into  the  garden  ;  the  sound  of  her 
father's  footstep  on  the  creaking  staircase  terrified  her.  She 
was  conscious  of  a  happiness  that  shrank  from  the  observation 
of  others,  a  happiness  which,  as  we  are  apt  to  think,  and  per- 
haps not  without  reason,  shines  from  our  eyes,  and  is  written 
at  large  upon  our  foreheads.  And  not  only  so,  she  was  con- 
scious of  other  thoughts.  The  bleak  discomfort  of  her  father's 
house  had  struck  her  for  the  first  time,  and,  with  a  dim  feeling 
of  vexation,  the  poor  child  wished  that  she  could  alter  it  all, 
and  bring  it  more  into  harmony  with  her  cousin's  elegance. 
She  felt  a  passionate  longing  to  do  something  for  him,  without 
the  slightest  idea  what  that  something  should  be.  The  wo- 
manly instinct  awakened  in  her  at  the  first  sight  of  her  cousin 
was  only  the  stronger  because  she  had  reached  her  three-and- 


EUGENIE    GRANDET.  69 

twentieth  year,  and  mind  and  heart  were  fully  developed ;  and 
she  was  so  natural  and  simple  that  she  acted  on  the  prompt- 
ings of  her  angelic  nature  without  submitting  herself,  her  im- 
pressions, or  her  feelings  to  any  introspective  process. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  the  sight  of  her  father  struck  a 
sort  of  terror  into  her  heart ;  she  felt  that  he  was  the  master 
of  her  fate,  and  that  she  was  guiltily  hiding  some  of  her  thoughts 
from  him.  She  began  to  walk  hurriedly  up  and  down,  won- 
dering how  it  was  that  the  air  was  so  fresh ;  there  was  a  reviv- 
ing force  in  the  sunlight,  it  seemed  to  be  within  her  as  well 
as  without,  it  was  as  if  a  new  life  had  begun. 

While  she  was  still  thinking  how  to  gain  her  end  concern- 
ing the  cake,  a  quarrel  came  to  pass  between  Nanon  and 
Grandet,  a  thing  as  rare  as  a  winter  swallow.  The  good  man 
had  just  taken  his  keys,  and  was  about  to  dole  out  the  provi- 
sions required  for  the  day. 

'*  Is  there  any  bread  left  over  from  yesterday  !"  he  asked 
of  Nanon. 

"  Not  a  crumb,  sir." 

Grandet  took  up  a  large  loaf,  round  in  form  and  close  in 
consistence,  shaped  in  one  of  the  flat  baskets  which  they  use 
for  baking  in  Anjou,  and  was  about  to  cut  it,  when  Nanon 
broke  in  upon  him  with — 

"  There  are  five  of  us  to-day,  sir." 

"True,"  answered  Grandet;  "but  these  loaves  of  yours 
weigh  six  pounds  apiece  ;  there  will  be  some  left  over.  Be- 
sides, these  young  fellows  from  Paris  never  touch  bread,  as 
you  will  soon  see." 

"  Then  do  they  eat  kitchen  ?  "  asked  Nanon. 

This  word  kitchen  in  the  Angevin  dictionary  signifies  any- 
thing which  is  spread  upon  bread  ;  from  butter,  the  commonest 
variety,  to  preserved  peaches,  the  most  distinguished  of  all 
kitchens :  and  those  who,  as  small  children,  have  nibbled  off 
the  kitchen  and  left  the  bread,  will  readily  understand  the 
bearins:  of  Nanon's  remark. 


70  eugAnie  grand et. 

"No,"  replied  Grandet,  with  much  gravity,  "they  eat 
neither  bread  nor  kitchen  ;  they  are  like  a  girl  in  love,  as  you 
may  say." 

Having  at  length  cut  down  the  day's  rations  to  the  lowest 
possible  point,  the  miser  was  about  to  go  to  his  fruit-loft,  first 
carefully  locking  up  the  cupboards  of  his  storeroom,  when 
Nanon  stopped  him. 

"Just  give  me  some  flour  and  butter,  sir,"  she  said,  "  and 
I  will  make  a  cake  for  the  children." 

"  Are  you  going  to  turn  the  house  upside  down  because  my 
nephew  is  here  ?  " 

"  Your  nephew  was  no  more  in  my  mind  than  your  dog,  no 

more  than  he  was  in  yours There  now  !  you  have  only 

put  out  six  lumps  of  sugar,  and  I  want  eight." 

"  Come,  come,  Nanon ;  I  have  never  seen  you  like  this 
before.  What  has  come  over  you  ?  Are  you  mistress  here  ? 
You  will  have  six  lumps  of  sugar  and  no  more." 

"  Oh,  very  well;  and  what  is  your  nephew  to  sweeten  his 
coffee  with  ? ' ' 

"  He  can  have  two  lumps;  I  shall  go  without  it  myself." 

"  You  go  without  sugar  !  and  at  your  age  !  I  would  sooner 
pay  for  it  out  of  my  own  pocket." 

"  Mind  your  own  business." 

In  spite  of  the  low  price  of  sugar,  it  was,  in  Grandet's 
eyes,  the  most  precious  of  all  colonial  products.  For  him  it 
was  always  something  to  be  used  sparingly ;  it  was  still  worth 
six  francs  a  pound,  as  in  the  time  of  the  Empire,  and  this  pet 
economy  had  become  an  inveterate  habit  with  him.  But 
every  woman,  no  matter  how  simple  she  may  be,  can  devise 
some  shift  to  gain  her  ends ;  and  Nanon  allowed  the  question 
of  the  sugar  to  drop,  in  order  to  have  her  way  about  the 
cake. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  she  called  through  the  window,  "wouldn't 
you  like  some  cake  ?  " 

"No,  no,"  answered  Eugenie. 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  71 

"Stay,  Nanon,"  said  Grandet  as  he  heard  his  daughter's 
voice;  "there  !  " 

He  opened  the  flour-bin,  measured  out  some  flour,  and 
added  a  few  ounces  of  butter  to  the  piece  which  he  had 
already  cut. 

*'  And  firewood  ;  I  shall  want  firewood  to  heat  the  oven," 
said  the  inexorable  Nanon. 

"Ah!  well,  you  can  take  what  you  want,"  he  answered 
ruefully  j  but  you  will  make  a  fruit  tart  at  the  same  time,  and 
you  must  bake  the  dinner  in  the  oven,  that  will  save  lighting 
another  fire." 

"Why!"  cried  Nanon;  there  is  no  need  to  tell  me 
that !  " 

Grandet  gave  his  trusty  prime  minister  a  glance  that  was 
almost  paternal. 

"Mademoiselle,"  cried  Nanon,  "we  are  going  to  have  a 
cake." 

Grandet  came  back  again  with  the  fruit,  and  began  by 
setting  down  a  plateful  on  the  kitchen  table. 

"Just  look  here,  sir,"  said  Nanon,  "what  lovely  boots 
your  nephew  has  !  What  leather,  how  nice  it  smells  !  What 
are  they  to  be  cleaned  with  ?  Am  I  to  put  your  egg  blacking 
on  them?" 

"No,  Nanon,"  said  Eugenie;  "I  expect  the  tg'g  would 
spoil  the  leather.     You  had  better  tell  him  that  you  have  no 

idea  how  to  clean  black  morocco Yes,  it  is  morocco, 

and  he  himself  will  buy  you  something  in  Saumur  to  clean  his 
boots  with.  I  have  heard  it  said  that  they  put  sugar  into 
their  blacking,  and  that  is  what  makes  it  so  shiny." 

"Then  is  it  good  to  eat?"  asked  Nanon,  as  she  picked 
up  the  boots  and  smelt  them.  "  Why,  why  !  they  smell  of 
madame's  eau-de-Cologne  !     Oh,  how  funny  !  " 

**  Funny  f'^  said  her  master;  "people  spend  more  money 
on  their  boots  than  they  are  worth  that  stand  in  them,  and 
you  think  it  funny  !  "     He  had  just  returned  from  a  second 


72  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

and  final  expedition  to  the  fruit-loft,  carefully  locking  the 
door  after  him. 

"You  will  have  soup  once  or  twice  a  week  while  your 
nephew  is  here,  sir,  will  you  not?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Shall  I  go  round  to  the  butcher's?" 

"You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  You  can  make  some 
chicken-broth;  the  tenants  will  keep  you  going.  But  I  shall 
tell  Cornoiller  to  kill  some  ravens  for  me.  That  kind  of 
game  makes  the  best  broth  in  the  world." 

"  Is  it  true,  sir,  that  they  live  on  dead  things  ?  " 

"  You  are  a  fool,  Nanon  !  They  live,  like  everybody  else, 
on  anything  that  they  can  pick  up.  Don't  we  all  live  on 
dead  things  ?  What  about  legacies  ?  And  the  good  man 
Grandet,  having  no  further  order  to  give,  drew  out  his  watch, 
and  finding  that  there  was  yet  half  an  hour  to  spare  before 
breakfast,  took  up  his  hat,  gave  his  daughter  a  kiss,  and  said, 
"Would  you  like  to  take  a  walk  along  the  Loire?  I  have 
something  to  see  after  in  the  meadows  down  there." 

Eugenie  put  on  her  straw  hat  lined  with  rose-colored  silk; 
and  then  father  and  daughter  went  down  the  crooked  street 
towards  the  market-place. 

"Where  are  you  oflf  to  so  early  this  morning?"  said  the 
notary  Cruchot,  as  he  met  the  Grandets. 

"  We  are  going  to  take  a  look  at  something,"  responded 
his  friend,  in  nowise  deceived  by  this  early  move  on  the 
notary's  part. 

Whenever  Grandet  was  about  to  "  take  a  look  at  some- 
thing," the  notary  knew  by  experience  that  there  was  some- 
thing to  be  gained  by  going  with  him.  With  him,  therefore, 
he  went. 

"  Come  along,  Cruchot,"  said  Grandet,  addressing  the 
notary.  "  You  are  one  of  my  friends  ;  I  am  going  to  show 
you  what  a  piece  of  folly  it  is  to  plant  poplars  in  good 
soil " 


EUGENIE    GRAXDET.  73 

"  Then  the  sfxty  thousand  francs  that  you  fingered  for  those 
poplars  of  yours  in  the  meadows  by  the  Loire  are  a  mere  trifle 
to  you?"  said  Cruchot,  opening  his  eyes  wide  in  his  be- 
wilderment.    "  And  such  luck  as  you  had  too  ! Felling 

your  timber  just  when  there  was  no  white  wood  to  be  had  in 
Nantes,  so  that  every  trunk  fetched  thirty  francs  !" 

Eugenie  heard  and  did  not  hear,  utterly  unconscious  that 
the  most  critical  moment  of  her  life  was  rapidly  approaching, 
that  a  paternal  and  sovereign  decree  was  about  to  be  pro- 
nounced, and  that  the  old  notary  was  to  bring  all  this  about. 
Grandet  had  reached  the  magnificent  meadow-land  by  the 
Loire,  which  had  come  into  his  hands  in  his  Republican  days. 
Some  thirty  laborers  were  busy  digging  out  the  roots  of  the 
poplars  that  once  stood  there,  filling  up  the  holes  that  were 
left,  and  leveling  the  ground. 

**  Now,  M.  Cruchot,  see  how  much  space  a  poplar  takes 
up,"  said  he,  addressing  the  notary.  **  Jean,"  he  called  to  a 
workman,  m — m — measure  r — round  the  sides  with  your  rule." 

**  Eight  feet  four  times  over,"  said  the  workman  when  he 
had  finished. 

"Thirty-two  feet  of  loss,"  said  Grandet  to  Cruchot. 
"Now  along  that  line  there  were  three  hundred  poplars, 
weren't  there?  Well,  then,  three  hundred  t — t — times  thirty- 
two  f — feet  will  eat  up  five  hundredweight  of  hay,  allow 
twice  as  much  again  for  the  space  on  either  side,  and  you  get 
fifteen  hundredweight ;  then  there  is  the  intervening  space — 
say  a  thousand  t — t — trusses  of  hay  altogether." 

"Well,"  said  Cruchot,  helping  his  friend  out,  "and  a 
thousand  trusses  of  that  hay  would  fetch  something  like  six 
hundred  francs." 

"  S — s — say  t — twelve  hundred,  because  the  s — second 
crop  is  worth  three  or  four  hundred  francs.  Good,  then 
reckon  up  what  t — t — twelve  hundred  francs  per  annum  d — 
d — during  f — forty  years  comes  to,  at  compound  interest,  of 
course." 


74  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

"  Sixty  thousand  francs,  or  thereabouts,"  said  the  notary. 

"  That  is  what  I  make  it !  Sixty  thousand  f — f — francs. 
Well,"  the  vine-grower  went  on  without  stammering,  "  two 
thousand  poplars  will  not  bring  in  fifty  thousand  francs  in 
forty  years.  So  you  lose  on  them.  That  /found  out,"  said 
Grandet,  who  was  vastly  pleased  with  himself.  "Jean,"  he 
continued,  turning  to  the  laborer,  "fill  up  all  the  holes  ex- 
cept those  along  the  riverside,  where  you  can  plant  those 
poplar  saplings  that  I  bought.  If  you  set  them  along  by  the 
Loire,  they  will  grow  there  finely  at  the  expense  of  the 
government,"  he  added,  and  as  he  looked  round  at  Cruchot 
the  wen  on  his  nose  twitched  slightly,  the  most  sardonic 
smile  could  not  have  said  more. 

"  Yes,  it  is  clear  enough,  poplars  should  only  be  planted  in 
poor  soil,"  said  Cruchot,  quite  overcome  with  amazement  at 
Grandet's  astuteness. 

"  Y — e — s,  sir,"  said  the  cooper  ironically. 

Eugenie  was  looking  out  over  the  glorious  landscape  and 
along  the  Loire,  without  heeding  her  father's  arithmetic ;  but 
Cruchot's  talk  with  his  client  took  another  turn,  and  her 
attention  was  suddenly  aroused. 

**  So  you  have  a  son-in-law  come  from  Paris ;  they  are  talk- 
ing about  nothing  but  your  nephew  in  all  Saumur.  I  shall 
soon  have  settlements  to  draw  up  ;  eh,  pere  Grandet?  " 

"  Did  you  come  out  early  to  t — t — tell  me  that?"  inquired 
Grandet,  and  again  the  wen  twitched.  "Very  well,  you  are 
an  old  crony  of  mine ;  I  will  be  p — plain  with  you,  and  t — 
t — tell  you  what  you  w — want  to  know.  I  would  rather  fling 
my  d — d — daughter  into  the  Loire,  look  you,  than  g — ^give 
her  to  her  cousin.  You  can  give  that  out.  But,  no  ;  1 — 1 — 
let  people  gossip." 

Everything  swam  before  Eugenie's  eyes.  Her  vague  hopes 
of  distant  happiness  had  suddenly  taken  definite  shape,  had 
sprung  up  and  blossomed,  and  then  her  harvest  of  flowers  had 
been  as  suddenly  cut  down   and   lay  on  the  earth.     Since 


EUCJ^NIE   CRANDET.  75 

yesterday  she  had  woven  the  bonds  of  happiness  that  unite 
two  souls,  and  henceforward  sorrow,  it  seemed,  was  to 
strengthen  them.  Is  it  not  written  in  the  noble  destiny  of 
woman  that  the  grandeur  of  sorrow  should  touch  her  more 
closely  than  all  the  pomp  and  splendor  of  fortune  ? 

How  came  it  that  a  father's  feelings  had  been  extinguished 
(as  it  seemed)  in  her  father's  heart  ?  What  crime  could  be 
laid  at  Charles'  door  ?  Mysterious  questions  !  Mysterious 
and  sad  forebodings  already  surrounded  her  growing  love, 
that  mystery  within  her  soul.  When  they  turned  to  go  home 
again,  she  trembled  in  every  limb ;  and  as  they  went  up  the 
shady  street,  along  which  she  had  lately  gone  so  joyously, 
the  shadows  looked  gloomy,  the  air  she  breathed  seemed  full 
of  the  melancholy  of  autumn,  everything  about  her  was  sad. 
Love,  that  had  brought  these  keener  perceptions,  was  quick  to 
interpret  every  boding  sign.  As  they  neared  home,  she 
walked  on  ahead  of  her  father,  knocked  at  the  house-door, 
and  stood  waiting  beside  it.  But  Grandet,  seeing  that  the 
notary  carried  a  newspaper  still  in  its  wrapper,  asked,  **  How 
are  consols?" 

"I  know  you  will  not  take  my  advice,  Grandet,"  Cruchot 
replied.  "You  should  buy  at  once;  the  chance  of  making 
twenty  per  cent,  on  them  in  two  years  is  still  open  to  you, 
and  they  pay  a  very  fair  rate  of  interest  besides,  five  thousand 
livres  is  not  a  bad  return  on  eighty  thousand  francs.  You 
can  buy  now  at  eighty  francs  fifty  centimes." 

"  We  shall  see,"  remarked  Grandet  pensively,  rubbing  his 
chin. 

*' Mon  Dieu  r^  exclaimed  the  notary,  who  by  this  time 
had  unfolded  his  newspaper. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  cried  Grandet  as  Cruchot  put  the 
paper  in  his  hands  and  said — 

"Read  that  paragraph." 

"  M.  Grandet,  one  of  the  most  highly-respected  merchants 


76  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

in  Paris,  shot  himself  through  the  head  yesterday  afternoon, 
after  putting  in  an  appearance  on  'Change  as  usual.  He  had 
previously  sent  in  his  resignation  to  the  President  of  the 
Chamber  of  Deputies,  resigning  his  position  as  Judge  of  the 
Tribunal  of  Commerce  at  the  same  time.  His  affairs  had 
become  involved  through  the  failures  of  his  stockbroker  and 
notary,  MM.  Roguin  and  Souchet.  M.  Grandet,  whose  char- 
acter was  greatly  esteemed,  and  whose  credit  stood  high, 
would  no  doubt  have  found  temporary  assistance  on  the 
market  which  would  have  enabled  him  to  tide  over  his  diffi- 
culties. It  is  to  be  regretted  that  a  man  of  such  high  char- 
acter should  have  given  way  to  the  first  impulse  of  despair  " 
— and  so  forth,  and  so  forth. 

"  I  knew  it,"  the  old  vine-grower  said. 

Phlegmatic  though  Cruchot  was,  he  felt  a  horrible  shudder 
run  through  him  at  the  words  ;  perhaps  Grandet  of  Paris  had 
stretched  imploring  hands  in  vain  to  the  millions  of  Grandet 
of  Saumur ;  the  blood  ran  cold  in  his  veins. 

"And  his  son?"  he  asked  presently,  "he  was  in  such 
spirits  yesterday  evening." 

"  His  son  knows  nothing  as  yet,"  Grandet  answered,  im- 
perturbable as  ever. 

"Good-morning,  M.  Grandet,"  said  Cruchot.  He  under- 
stood the  position  now,  and  went  to  reassure  the  President  de 
Bonfons. 

Grandet  found  breakfast  ready.  Mme.  Grandet  was  already 
seated  in  her  chair,  mounted  on  the  wooden  blocks,  and  was 
knitting  woolen  cuffs  for  the  winter.  Eugenie  ran  to  her 
mother  and  put  her  arms  about  her,  with  the  eager  hunger  for 
affection  that  comes  of  a  hidden  trouble. 

"You  can  get  your  breakfast,"  said  Nanon,  bustling  down- 
stairs in  a  hurry;  "he  is  sleeping  like  a  cherub.  He  looks 
so  nice  with  his  eyes  shut !  I  went  in  and  called  him,  but  it 
was  all  one,  he  never  heard  me." 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  77 

"Let  him  sleep,"  said  Grandet ;  "he  will  wake  soon 
enough  to  hear  bad  news,  in  any  case." 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Eugenie.  She  was  putting 
into  her  cup  the  two  smallest  lumps  of  sugar,  weighing  good- 
ness knows  how  many  grains  ;  her  worthy  parent  was  wont  to 
amuse  himself  by  cutting  up  sugar  whenever  he  had  nothing 
better  to  do. 

Mme.  Grandet,  who  had  not  dared  to  put  the  question  her- 
self, looked  at  her  husband. 

"His  father  has  blown  his  brains  out." 

" My  uncle  ?'^  said  Eugenie. 

"  Oh  !  that  poor  boy  !  "  cried  Mme,  Grandet. 

"  Poor  indeed  !  "  said  Grandet ;   "he  has  not  a  penny." 

"  Ah  !  well,  he  is  sleeping  as  if  he  were  the  king  of  all  the 
world,"  said  Nanon  pityingly. 

Eugenie  could  not  eat.  Her  heart  was  wrung  as  a  woman's 
heart  can  be  when  for  the  first  time  her  whole  soul  is  filled 
with  sorrow  and  compassion  for  the  sorrow  of  one  she  loves. 
She  burst  into  tears. 

"You  did  not  know  your  uncle,  so  what  is  there  to  cry 
about?"  said  her  father  with  a  glance  like  a  hungry  tiger; 
just  such  a  glance  as  he  would  give,  no  doubt,  to  his  heaps 
of  gold. 

"  But  who  wouldn't  feel  sorry  for  the  poor  young  man, 
sir?"  said  the  serving-maid  ;  "sleeping  there  like  a  log,  and 
knowing  nothing  of  his  fate." 

"  I  did  not  speak  to  you,  Nanon  !     Hold  your  tongue." 

In  that  moment  Eugenie  learned  that  a  woman  who  loves 
must  dissemble  her  feelings.     She  was  silent. 

"  Until  I  come  back,  Mme.  Grandet,  you  will  say  nothing 
about  this  to  him,  I  hope,"  the  old  cooper  continued.  "  They 
are  making  a  ditch  in  my  meadows  along  the  road,  and  I 
must  go  and  see  after  it.  I  shall  come  back  for  the  second 
breakfast  at  noon,  and  then  my  nephew  and  I  will  have  a  talk 
about  his  affairs.     As  for  you,  Mademoiselle  Eugenie,  if  you 


78  EUGENIE    GRANDET. 

are  crying  over  that  popinjay,  let  us  have  no  more  of  it,  child. 
He  will  be  off  post-haste  to  the  Indies  directly,  and  you  will 
never  set  eyes  on  him  any  more." 

Her  father  took  up  his  gloves,  which  were  lying  on  the  rim 
of  his  hat,  put  tliem  on  in  his  cool,  deliberate  way,  inserting 
the  fingers  of  one  hand  between  those  of  the  other,  dovetail 
fashion,  so  as  to  thrust  them  down  well  into  the  tips  of  the 
gloves,  and  then  he  went  out. 

"Oh!  mamma,  I  can  scarcely  breathe  !  "  cried  Eugdnie, 
when  she  was  alone  with  her  mother ;  **  I  have  never  suffered 
like  this  !  " 

Mme.  Grandet,  seeing  her  daughter's  white  face,  opened 
the  window  and  let  fresh  air  into  the  room. 

**  I  feel  better  now,"  said  Eugenie  after  a  little  while. 

This  nervous  excitement  in  one  who  was  usually  so  quiet 
and  self-possessed  produced  an  effect  on  Mme.  Grandet.  She 
looked  at  her  daughter,  and  her  mother's  love  and  sympathetic 
instinct  told  her  everything.  But,  in  truth,  the  celebrated 
Hungarian  twin-sisters,  united  to  each  other  by  one  of  nature's 
errors,  could  scarcely  have  lived  in  closer  sympathy  than 
Eug6nie  and  her  mother.  Were  they  not  always  together : 
together  in  the  window  where  they  sat  the  livelong  day,  to- 
gether at  church ;  did  they  not  breathe  the  same  air  even  when 
they  slept  ? 

"My  poor  little  girl!"  said  Mme.  Grandet,  drawing 
Eugenie's  head  down  till  it  rested  upon  her  bosom. 

Her  daughter  lifted  her  face,  and  gave  her  mother  a  ques- 
tioning look  which  seemed  to  read  her  inmost  thoughts. 

"  Why  must  he  be  sent  to  the  Indies  ?  "  said  the  girl.  "  If 
he  is  in  trouble,  ought  he  not  to  stay  here  with  us?  Is  he  not 
our  nearest  relation  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear  child,  that  would  only  be  natural ;  but  your 
father  has  reasons  for  what  he  does,  and  we  must  respect  them." 

Mother  and  daughter  sat  in  silence ;  the  one  on  her  chair 
mounted  on  the  wooden  blocks,  the  other  in  her  little  arm- 


EUG&NIE   GRANDET.  79 

chair.  Both  women  took  up  their  needlework.  Eugenie  felt 
that  her  mother  understood  her,  and  her  heart  was  full  of 
gratitude  for  such  tender  sympathy. 

"  How  kind  you  are,  dear  mamma  !  "  she  said  as  she  took 
her  mother's  hand  and  kissed  it. 

The  worn,  patient  face,  aged  with  many  sorrows,  lighted  up 
at  the  words. 

"  Do  you  like  him  ?  "  asked  Eugenie. 

For  all  answer,  Mme.  Grandet  smiled.  Then  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause  she  murmured,  "  You  cannot  surely  love  him 
already?     That  would  be  a  pity." 

"  Why  would  it  be  a  pity?"  asked  Eugenie.  "You  like 
him,  Nanon  likes  him,  why  should  I  not  like  him  too?  Now 
then,  mamma,  let  us  set  the  table  for  his  breakfast." 

She  threw  down  her  work,  and  her  mother  followed  her 
example,  saying  as  she  did  so,  "  You  are  a  mad  girl  !  " 

But  none  the  less  did  she  sanction  her  daughter's  freak  by 
assisting  in  it. 

Eugenie  called  Nanon. 

"  Haven't  you  all  you  want  yet,  mamselle  ?  " 

"  Nanon,  surely  you  will  have  some  cream  by  twelve 
o'clock?" 

"  By  twelve  o'clock?    Oh  !  yes,"  answered  the  old  servant. 

"  Very  well,  then,  let  the  coffee  be  very  strong.  I  have 
heard  M.  des  Grassins  say  that  they  drink  their  coffee  very 
strong  in  Paris.     Put  in  plenty." 

**  And  where  is  it  to  come  from  ?  " 

"You  must  buy  some." 

"And  suppose  the  master  meets  me?" 

"  He  is  down  by  the  river." 

"  I  will  just  slip  out  then.  But  M.  Fessard  asked  mewhca 
I  went  about  the  candle  if  the  Three  Holy  Kings  were  paying 
us  a  visit.     Our  goings  on  will  be  all  over  the  town." 

"Your  father  would  be  quite  capable  of  beating  us,"  said 
Mme.  Grandet,  "if  he  suspected  anything  of  all  this." 


80  EUG&NIE   GRANDET. 

"Oh!  well,  then,  never  mind;  he  will  beat  us,  we  will 
take  the  beating  on  our  knees." 

At  this  Mme.  Grandet  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven,  and  said 
no  more.  Nanon  put  on  her  sun-bonnet  and  went  out. 
Eugdnie  spread  a  clean  linen  tablecloth,  then  she  went  up- 
stairs in  quest  of  some  bunches  of  grapes  which  she  had 
amused  herself  by  hanging  from  some  strings  up  in  the  attic. 
She  tripped  lightly  along  the  corridor,  so  as  not  to  disturb  her 
cousin,  and  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  stop  a  moment 
before  the  door  to  listen  to  his  even  breathing. 

"Trouble  wakes  while  he  is  sleeping,"  she  said  to  herself. 

She  arranged  her  grapes  on  the  few  last  green  vine-leaves 
as  daintily  as  any  experienced  chef  dT office,  and  set  them  on 
the  table  in  triumph.  She  levied  contributions  on  the  pears 
which  her  father  had  counted  out,  and  piled  them  up  pyramid- 
fashion,  with  autumn  leaves  among  them.  She  came  and 
went,  and  danced  in  and  out.  She  might  have  ransacked  the 
house ;  the  will  was  in  nowise  lacking,  but  her  father  kept 
everything  under  lock  and  key,  and  the  keys  were  in  his 
pocket.  Nanon  came  back  with  two  new-laid  eggs.  Eugenie 
could  have  flung  her  arms  round  the  girl's  neck. 

"  The  farmer  from  La  Lande  had  eggs  in  his  basket ;  I 
asked  him  for  some,  and  to  please  me  he  let  me  have  these, 
the  nice  man." 

After  two  hours  of  industrious  application,  Eugenie  suc- 
ceeded in  preparing  a  very  simple  meal;  it  cost  but  little,  it 
is  true,  but  it  was  a  terrible  infringement  of  the  immemorial 
laws  and  customs  of  the  house.  No  one  sat  down  to  the  mid- 
day meal,  which  consisted  of  a  little  bread,  some  fruit  or 
butter,  and  a  glass  of  wine.  Twenty  times  in  those  two  hours 
Eugdnie  had  left  her  work  to  watch  the  coffee  boil,  or  to 
listen  for  any  sound  announcing  that  her  cousin  was  getting 
up;  now  looking  round  on  the  table  drawn  up  to  the  fire, 
with  one  of  the  armchairs  set  beside  it  for  her  cousin,  on  the 
two  plates  of  fruit,  the  egg-cups,  the  bottle  of  white  wine,  the 


EUGJtNIE    GRANDET.  81 

bread,  and  the  little  pyramid  of  white  sugar  in  a  saucer; 
Eugenie  trembled  from  head  to  foot  at  the  mere  thought  of 
the  glance  her  father  would  give  her  if  he  should  happen  to 
come  in  at  that  moment.  Often,  therefore,  did  she  look  at 
the  clock,  to  see  if  there  was  yet  time  for  her  cousin  to  finish 
his  breakfast  before  her  parent's  return. 

"  Never  mind,  Eugenie,  if  your  father  comes  in,  I  will 
take  all  the  blame,"  said  Mme.  Grandet. 

Eugenie  could  not  keep  back  the  tears,  "  Oh  !  my  kind 
mother,"  she  cried j  "I  have  not  loved  you  enough  !  " 

Charles,  after  making  innumerable  pirouettes  round  his 
room,  came  down  at  last,  singing  gay  little  snatches  of  song. 
Luckily  it  was  only  eleven  o'clock  after  all.  He  had  taken 
as  much  pains  with  his  appearance  (the  Parisian  !)  as  if  he 
had  been  staying  in  the  chateau  belonging  to  the  high-born 
fair  one  who  was  traveling  in  Scotland ;  and  now  he  came  in 
with  that  gracious  air  of  condescension  which  sits  not  ill  on 
youth,  and  which  gave  Eugenie  a  melancholy  pleasure.  He  had 
come  to  regard  the  collapse  of  his  castles  in  Anjou  as  a  very 
good  joke,  and  went  up  to  his  aunt  quite  gaily. 

'*  I  hope  you  slept  well,  dear  aunt?  And  you  too,  cousin?" 

"Very  well,  sir;  how  did  you  sleep?" 

"Soundly." 

"Cousin,  you  must  be  hungry,"  said  Eugenie;  "sit 
down." 

"  Oh  !  I  never  breakfast  before  twelve  o'clock,  just  after  I 
rise.     But  I  have  fared   so  badly  on  my  journey,  that  I  will 

yield  to  persuasion.     Besides "  he  drew  out  the  daintiest 

little  watch  that  ever  issued  from  Br^guet's  workshop.  "  Dear 
me,  it  is  only  eleven  o'clock  ;  I  have  been  up  betimes." 

"  Up  betimes?  "  asked  Mme.  Grandet. 

"  Yes,  but  I  wanted  to  set  my  things  straight.  Well,  I  am 
quite  ready  for  something,  something  not  very  substantial,  a 
fowl  or  a  partridge." 

"  Holy  Virgin  !  "  exclaimed  Nanon,  hearing  these  words. 
6 


82  EUGENIE   GRAADET. 

"  A  partridge,"  said  Eugenie  to  herself.  She  would  willingly 
have  given  all  she  had  for  one. 

"  Come  and  take  your  seat,"  said  Mme.  Grandet,  address- 
ing her  nephew. 

The  dandy  sank  into  the  armchair  in  a  graceful  attitude, 
much  as  a  pretty  woman  might  recline  on  her  sofa.  Eugenie 
and  her  mother  drew  their  chairs  to  the  fire  and  sat  near  him. 

"Do  you  always  live  here?"  Charles  inquired,  thinking 
that  the  room  looked  even  more  hideous  by  daylight  than  by 
candlelight. 

"Always,"  Eugenie  answered,  watching  him  as  she  spoke. 
"Always,  except  during  the  vintage.  Then  we  go  to  help 
Nanon,  and  we  all  stay  at  the  Abbey  at  Noyers." 

"  Do  you  ever  take  a  walk  ?  " 

"  Sometimes,  on  Sundays  after  vespers,  when  it  is  fine,  we 
walk  down  as  far  as  the  bridge,"  said  Mme.  Grandet,  "  or  we 
sometimes  go  to  see  them  cutting  the  hay." 

"  Have  you  a  theatre  here? " 

**Go  to  the  play!"  cried  Mme.  Grandet;  "go  to  see 
play-actors  !  Why,  sir,  do  you  not  know  that  that  is  a  mortal 
sin?" 

"  Tliere,  sir,"  said  Nanon,  bringing  in  the  eggs,  "we  will 
give  you  chickens  in  the  shell." 

"  Oh  !  new-laid  eggs,"  said  Charles,  who,  after  the  manner 
of  those  accustomed  to  luxury,  had  quite  forgotten  all  about 
his  partridge.  "  Delicious  !  Do  you  happen  to  have  any 
butter,  eh,  my  good  girl?" 

"  Butter  ?  If  you  have  butter  now,  you  will  have  no  cake 
by-and-by,"  said  Nanon. 

"Yes,  of  course,  Nanon;  bring  some  butter,"  cried  Eu- 
genie. 

The  young  girl  watched  her  cousin  while  he  cut  his  bread 
and  butter  into  strips  and  felt  happy.  The  most  romantic 
shopgirl  in  Paris  could  not  more  thoroughly  enjoy  the  spectacle 
of  innocence  triumphant  in  a  melodrama.     It  must  be  con- 


EUG&NIE   GRANDET.  » 

ceded  that  Charles,  who  had  been  brought  up  by  a  graceful 
and  charming  mother,  and  had  received  his  "  finishing  educa- 
tion "  from  an  accomplished  woman  of  the  world,  was  as 
dainty,  neat,  and  elegant  in  his  ways  as  any  coxcomb  of  the 
gentler  sex.  The  girl's  quiet  sympathy  produced  an  almost 
magnetic  effect.  Charles,  finding  himself  thus  waited  upon, 
by  his  cousin  and  aunt,  could  not  resist  the  influence  of  their" 
overflowing  kindness.  He  was  radiant  with  good-humor,  and; 
the  look  he  gave  Eugenie  was  almost  a  smile.  As  he  looked- 
more  closely  at  her  he  noticed  her  pure,  regular  features,  her 
unconscious  attitude,  the  wonderful  clearness  of  her  eyes,  in 
which  love  sparkled,  though  she  as  yet  knew  nothing  of  love 
but  its  pain  and  a  wistful  longing. 

"Really,  my  dear  cousin,"  he  said,  "  if  you  were  in  a  box 
at  the  opera  and  in  evening  dress,  and  I  would  answer  for  it, 
my  aunt's  remark  about  deadly  sin  would  be  fully  justified, 
all  the  men  would  become  envious  and  all  the  women 
jealous." 

Eugenie's  heart  beat  fast  with  joy  at  this  compliment,  though 
it  conveyed  no  meaning  whatever  to  her  mind. 

"  You  are  laughing  at  a  poor  little  country  cousin,"  she  said. 

"If  you  knew  me  better,  cousin,  you  would  know  that  I 
detest  banter;  it  sears  the  heart  and  deadens  the  feelings." 
And  he  swallowed  down  a  strip  of  bread  and  butter  with  per- 
fect satisfaction. 

"No,"  he  continued,  "I  never  make  fun  of  others,  very 
likely  because  I  have  not  wit  enough,  a  defect  which  puts  me 
at  a  great  disadvantage.  They  have  a  deadly  trick  in  Paris 
of  saying,  '  He  is  so  good-natured,'  which,  being  interpreted, 
means — *  the  poor  youth  is  as  stupid  as  a  rhinoceros.'  But  as 
I  happen  to  be  rich,  and  it  is  known  that  I  can  hit  the  bull's 
eye  straight  off  at  thirty  paces  with  any  kind  of  pistol  any- 
where, these  witticisms  are  not  leveled  at  me." 

"It  is  evident  from  what  you  say,  nephew,"  said  Mme.. 
Grandet  gravely,  "  that  you  have  a  kind  heart." 


«4  EUG&NIE   GRANDE  T. 

"That  is  a  very  pretty  ring  of  yours,"  said  Eugenie;  "is 
there  any  harm  in  asking  to  see  it  ?  " 

Charles  took  off  the  ring  and  held  it  out ;  Eugenie  reddened 
as  her  cousin's  rose-pink  nails  came  in  contact  with  her  finger- 
tips. 

"  Mother,  only  see  how  fine  the  work  is  !  " 

"Oh,  what  a  lot  of  gold  there  is  in  it,"  said  Nanon,  who 
brought  in  the  coffee. 

"What  is  that?"  asked  Charles,  laughing,  as  he  pointed 
to  an  oval  pipkin,  made  of  glazed  brown  earthenware,  orna- 
mented without  by  a  circular  fringe  of  ashes.  It  was  full  of  a 
brown  boiling  liquid,  in  which  coffee  grounds  were  visible  as 
they  rose  to  the  surface  and  fell  again. 

"  Coffee ;  boiling  hot !  "  answered  Nanon. 

"  Oh  !  my  dear  aunt,  I  must  at  least  leave  some  beneficent 
trace  of  my  stay  here.  You  are  a  long  way  behind  the  times ! 
I  will  show  you  how  to  make  decent  coffee  in  a  cafetiere  a  la 
Chaptaiy  Forthwith  he  endeavored  to  explain  the  principles 
on  which  this  utensil  is  constructed,  and  how  the  coffee  should 
be  prepared. 

"  Bless  me  !  if  there  is  all  that  to-do  about  it,"  said  Nanon, 
"you  would  have  to  give  your  whole  time  to  it.  I'll  never 
make  coffee  that  way,  I  know.  Who  is  to  cut  the  grass  for 
our  cow  while  I  am  looking  after  the  coffee-pot?  " 

"I  would  do  it,"  said  Eugenie. 

"  Child /^*  said  Mme.  Grandet,  with  a  look  at  her  daughter ; 
and  at  the  word  came  a  swift  recollection  of  the  misery  about 
to  overwhelm  the  unconscious  young  man,  and  the  three  wo- 
men were  suddenly  silent,  and  gazed  pityingly  at  him.  He 
could  not  understand  it. 

"  What  is  it,  cousin  ?  "  he  asked  Eugenie. 

"Hush!"  said  Mme.  Grandet,  seeing  that  the  girl  was 
about  to  reply.  "  You  know  that  your  father  means  to  speak 
io  the  gentleman " 

"  $ay  *  Charles,'  "  said  young  Grandet. 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  ^ 

**  Oh,  is  your  name  Charles  ?  "  said  Eugenie.  "  It  is  a  nice 
name." 

Evil  forebodings  are  seldom  vain. 

Just  at  that  moment  Mme.  Grandet,  Eugenie,  and  Nanon, 
who  could  not  think  of  the  cooper's  return  without  shudder- 
ing, heard  the  familiar  knock  at  the  door. 

"  That  is  papa  !  "  cried  Eugenie. 

She  took  away  the  saucer  full  of  sugar,  leaving  one  or  two 
lumps  on  the  tablecloth.  Nanon  hurried  away  with  the  egg- 
cups.  Mme.  Grandet  started  up  like  a  frightened  fawn. 
There  was  a  sudden  panic  of  terror,  which  amazed  Charles, 
who  was  quite  at  a  loss  to  account  for  it. 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter?  "  he  asked. 

"My  father  is  coming  in,"  explained  Eugenie. 

"Well,  and  what  then?" 

M.  Grandet  entered  the  room,  gave  one  sharp  glance  at  the 
table,  and  another  at  Charles.     He  saw  how  it  was  at  once. 

"Aha!  you  are  making  a  fete  for  your  nephew.  Good, 
very  good,  oh  !  very  good,  indeed  !  "  he  said,  without  stam- 
mering.    "  When  the  cat  is  away,  the  mice  may  play." 

"  F6te  ?  "  thought  Charles,  who  had  not  the  remotest  con- 
ception of  the  state  of  affairs  in  the  Grandet  household. 

"  Bring  me  my  glass,  Nanon,"  said  the  good  man. 

Eugdnie  went  for  the  glass.  Grandet  drew  from  his  waist- 
coat pocket  a  large  clasp-knife  with  a  stag's  horn  handle,  cut 
a  slice  of  bread,  buttered  it  slowly  and  sparingly,  and  began 
to  eat  as  he  stood.  Just  then  Charles  put  some  sugar  into  his 
coffee  ;  this  called  Grandet's  attention  to  the  pieces  of  sugar 
on  the  table ;  he  looked  hard  at  his  wife,  who  turned  pale, 
and  came  a  step  or  two  towards  him ;  he  bent  down  and  said 
in  the  poor  woman's  ear — 

"  Where  did  all  that  sugar  come  from?  " 

"  Nanon  went  out  to  Fessard's  for  some ;  there  was  none  in 
the  house." 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  painful  interest  that  this 


-88  EUG&NIE   GRANDE  T. 

dumb  show  possessed  for  the  three  women ;  Nanon  had  left 
her  kitchen,  and  was  looking  into  the  dining-room  to  see  how 
things  went  there.  Charles  meanwhile  tasted  his  coffee, 
found  it  rather  strong,  and  looked  round  for  another  piece  of 
sugar,  but  Grandet  had  already  pounced  upon  it  and  taken  it 
.away. 

•**  What  do  you  want,  nephew  ?  "  the  old  man  inquired. 

•^' The  sugar." 

"Pour  in  some  more  milk  if  your  coffee  is  too  strong," 
answered  the  master  of  the  house. 

Eug6nie  took  up  the  saucer,  of  which  Grandet  had  pre- 
viously taken  possession,  and  set  it  on  the  table,  looking 
quietly  at  her  father  the  while.  Truly,  the  fair  Parisian  who 
exerts  all  the  strength  of  her  weak  arms  to  help  her  lover  to 
escape  by  a  ladder  of  silken  cords,  displays  less  courage  than 
Eugenie  sliowed  when  she  put  the  sugar  upon  the  table.  The 
Parisian  will  have  her  reward.  She  will  proudly  exhibit  the 
bruises  on  a  round  white  arm,  her  lover  will  bathe  them  with 
tears  and  cover  them  with  kisses,  and  pain  will  be  extinguished 
in  bliss  ;  but  Charles  had  not  the  remotest  conception  of  what 
his  cousin  endured  for  him,  or  of  the  horrible  dismay  that 
filled  her  heart  as  she  met  her  father's  angry  eyes ;  he  would 
never  even  know  of  her  sacrifice. 

"You  are  eating  nothing,  wife  !  " 

The  poor  bond-slave  went  to  the  table,  cut  a  piece  of  bread 
in  fear  and  trembling,  and  took  a  pear.  Eugenie,  grown 
reckless,  offered  the  grapes  to  her  father,  saying  as  she  did  so — 

"Just  try  some  of  my  fruit,  papa!  You  will  take  some, 
will  you  not,  cousin  ?  I  brought  those  pretty  grapes  down  on 
purpose  for  you." 

"Oh!  if  they  could  have  their  way,  they  would  turn 
Saumur  upside  down  for  you,  nephew  !  As  soon  as  you  have 
finished  we  will  take  a  turn  in  the  garden  together ;  I  have 
some  things  to  tell  you  that  would  take  a  deal  of  sugar  to 
sweeten  them." 


EUG&NIE   GRANDET.  87 

Eugenie  and  her  mother  both  gave  Charles  a  look,  which 
the  young  man  could  not  mistake. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  uncle?  Since  my  mot  her 
died "  (here  his  voice  softened  a  little)  **  there  is  no  mis- 
fortune possible  for  me " 

''  Who  can  know  what  afflictions  God  may  send  to  make 
trial  of  us,  nephew  ?  "  said  his  aunt. 

"Tut,  tut,  tut,"  muttered  Grandet,  "here  you  are  begin- 
ning with  your  folly  already  !  I  am  sorry  to  see  that  you 
have  such  white  hands,  nephew." 

He  displayed  the  fists,  like  shoulders  of  mutton,  with  which 
nature  had  terminated  his  own  arms. 

"That  is  the  sort  of  hand  to  rake  the  crowns  together! 
You  put  the  kind  of  leather  on  your  feet  that  we  used  to  make 
pocket-books  of  to  keep  bills  in.  That  is  the  way  you  have 
been  brought  up.     That's  bad  !  that's  bad  !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  uncle?  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  under- 
stand one  word  of  this." 

"  Come  along,"  said  Grandet. 

The  miser  shut  his  knife  with  a  snap,  drained  his  glass,  and 
opened  the  door. 

"  Oh  !  keep  up  your  courage,  cousin  !  " 

Something  in  the  girl's  voice  sent  a  sudden  chill  through 
Charles ;  he  followed  his  formidable  relative  with  dreadful 
misgivings.  Eugenie  and  her  mother  and  Nanon  went  into 
the  kitchen  ;  an  uncontrollable  anxiety  led  them  to  watch  the 
two  actors  in  the  scene  which  was  about  to  take  place  in  the 
damp  little  garden. 

Uncle  and  nephew  walked  together  in  silence  at  first. 
Grandet  felt  the  situation  to  be  a  somewhat  awkward  one  ;  not 
that  he  shrank  at  all  from  telling  Charles  of  his  father's  death, 
but  he  felt  a  kind  of  pity  for  a  young  man  left  in  this  way 
without  a  penny  in  the  world,  and  he  cast  about  for  phrases 
that  should  break  this  cruel  news  as  gently  as  might  be. 
**  You  have  lost  your  father  !  "  he  could  say  that ;  there  was 


88  EUGilNIE   GRANDET. 

nothing  in  that;  fathers  usually  predecease  their  children. 
But,  "You  have  not  a  penny  !  "  All  the  woes  of  the  world 
were  summed  up  in  those  words,  so  for  the  third  time  the 
worthy  man  walked  the  whole  length  of  the  path  in  the  centre 
of  the  garden,  crunching  the  gravel  beneath  his  heavy  boots, 
and  no  word  was  said. 

At  all  great  crises  in  our  lives,  any  sudden  joy  or  great  sor- 
row, there  comes  a  vivid  consciousness  of  our  surroundings 
that  stamps  them  on  the  memory  forever ;  and  Charles,  with 
every  faculty  strained  and  intent,  saw  the  box-edging  to  the 
borders,  the  falling  autumn  leaves,  the  mouldering  walls,  the 
gnarled  and  twisted  boughs  of  the  fruit-trees,  and  till  his 
dying  day  every  picturesque  detail  of  the  little  garden  came 
back  with  the  memory  of  the  supreme  hour  of  that  early 
sorrow. 

"It  is  very  fine,  very  warm,"  said  Grandet,  drawing  in  a 
deep  breath  of  air. 

"Yes,  uncle,  but  why " 

"Well,  my  boy,"  his  uncle  resumed,  "I  have  some  bad 
news  for  you.     Your  father  is  very  ill " 

"What  am  I  doing  here?"  cried  Charles.  "Nanon!" 
he  shouted,  "order  post-horses!  I  shall  be  sure  to  find  a 
carriage  of  some  sort  in  the  place,  I  suppose,"  he  added, 
turning  to  his  uncle,  who  had  not  stirred  from  where  he 
stood. 

"  Horses  and  carriage  are  of  no  use,"  Grandet  answered, 
looking  at  Charles,  who  immediately  stared  straight  before 
him  in  silence.  "  Yes,  my  poor  boy,  you  guess  what  has 
happened  ;  he  is  dead.  But  that  is  nothing ;  there  is  some- 
thing worse;  he  has  shot  himself  through  the  head " 

''  My  father?'' 

"  Yes,  but  that  is  nothing  either.  The  newspapers  are  dis- 
cussing it,  as  if  it  were  any  business  of  theirs.  There,  read 
for  yourself." 

Grandet  had  borrowed  Cruchot's  paper,  and  now  he  laid 


EUG&NIE    GRANDE T.  80 

the  fatal  paragraph  before  Charles.  The  poor  young  fellow — 
he  was  only  a  lad  as  yet — made  no  attempt  to  hide  his  emo- 
tion, and  burst  into  tears, 

"Come,  that  is  better,"  said  Grandet  to  himself.  "  That 
look  in  his  eyes  frightened  me.  He  is  crying ;  he  will  pull 
through.  Never  mind,  my  poor  nephew,"  Grandet  resumed 
aloud,  not  knowing  whether  Charles  heard  him  or  no,  "  that 
is  nothing,  you  will  get  over  it,  but " 

*'  Never !  never !     My  father  !  my  father !  " 

"  He  has  ruined  you;  you  are  penniless." 

"  What  is  that  to  me.    Where  is  my  father  ? my  father !" 

The  sound  of  his  sobbing  filled  the  little  garden,  reverberated 
in  ghastly  echoes  from  the  walls.  Tears  are  as  infectious  as 
laughter ;  the  three  women  wept  with  pity  for  him.  Charles 
broke  from  his  uncle  without  waiting  to  hear  more,  and 
sprang  into  the  yard,  found  the  staircase,  and  fled  to  his  own 
room,  where  he  flung  himself  across  the  bed  and  buried  his 
face  in  the  bedclothes,  that  he  might  give  way  to  his  grief  in 
solitude  as  far  as  possible  from  these  relations. 

"Let  him  alone  till  the  first  shower  is  over,"  said  Grandet, 
going  back  to  the  parlor.  Eugenie  and  her  mother  had  hastily 
returned  to  their  places,  had  dried  their  eyes,  and  were  sewing 
with  cold  trembling  fingers. 

"But  that  fellow  is  good  for  nothing,"  went  on  Grandet; 
"  he  is  so  taken  up  with  dead  folk  that  he  doesn't  even  think 
about  the  money." 

Eugenie  shuddered  to  hear  the  most  sacred  of  sorrows 
spoken  of  in  such  a  way  ;  from  that  moment  she  began  to 
criticise  her  father.  Charles'  sobs,  smothered  though  they 
were,  rang  through  that  house  of  echoes  ;  the  sounds  seemed 
to  come  from  under  the  earth,  a  heartrending  wail  that  grew 
fainter  towards  the  end  of  the  day,  and  only  ceased  as  night 
drew  on. 

"Poor  boy  !  "  said  Mme.  Grandet. 

It  was  an  unfortunate  remark  !     M.  Grandet  looked  at  his 


90  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

wife,  then  at  Eugenie,  then  at  the  sugar  basin ;  he  recollected 
the  sumptuous  breakfast  prepared  that  morning  for  their 
unhappy  kinsman,  and  planted  himself  in  the  middle  of  the 
room. 

"  Oh !  by-the-by,"  he  said,  in  his  usual  cool,  deliberate 
way,  '*  I  hope  you  will  not  carry  your  extravagance  any 
farther,  Mme.  Grandet ;  I  do  not  give  you  MY  money  for  you 
to  squander  it  on  sugar  for  that  young  rogue." 

"  Mother  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it,"  said 
Eugenie.     "  It  was  I " 

"Because  you  are  come  of  age,"  Grandet  interrupted  his 
daughter,  "  you  think  you  can  set  yourself  to  thwart  me,  I 
suppose.     Mind  what  you  are  about,  Eugenie " 

'*  But,  father,  your  own  brother's  son  ought  not  to  have  to 
go  without  sugar  in  your  house." 

"  Tut,  tut,  tut,  tut !  "  came  from  the  cooper  in  a  cadence 
of  four  semitones.  **'Tis  *  my  nephew'  here,  and  *  my 
brother's  son  *  there ;  Charles  is  nothing  to  us ;  he  has  not  a 
brass  farthing.  His  father  is  a  bankrupt,  and  when  the  young 
sprig  has  cried  as  much  as  he  wishes,  he  shall  clear  out  of  this ; 
I  will  not  have  my  house  turned  topsy-turvy  for  him." 

"  What  is  a  bankrupt,  father?"  asked  Eugenie. 

"A  bankrupt,"  replied  her  father,  "  is  guilty  of  the  most 
dishonorable  action  that  can  dishonor  a  man." 

"  It  must  be  a  very  great  sin,"  said  Mme.  Grandet,  **  and 
our  brother  will  perhaps  be  eternally  lost." 

"There  you  are  with  your  preachments,"  her  husband 
retorted,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "  A  bankrupt,  Eugenie," 
her  father  continued,  "  is  a  thief  whom  the  law  unfortunately 
takes  under  its  protection.  People  trusted  Guillaume  Grandet 
with  their  goods,  confiding  in  his  character  for  fair-dealing 
and  honesty ;  he  has  taken  all  they  have,  and  left  them  noth- 
ing but  the  eyes  in  their  heads  to  cry  over  their  losses  with. 
A  bankrupt  is  worse  than  a  highwayman  ;  a  highwayman  sets 
upon  you,  and  you  have  a  chance  to  defend  yourself;  he  risks 


EUGENIE    GRANDET.  M 

his  life  besides,  while  the  other Charles  is  disgraced,  ia 

fact." 

The  words  filled  the  poor  girl's  heart ;  they  weighed  upon 
her  with  all  their  weight ;  she  herself  was  so  scrupulously 
conscientious  ;  no  flower  in  the  depths  of  a  forest  had  grown 
more  delicately  free  from  spot  or  stain  ;  she  knew  none  of 
the  maxims  of  worldly  wisdom,  and  nothing  of  its  quibbles 
and  its  sophistries.  So  she  accepted  her  father's  cruel  defini- 
tion and  sweeping  statements  as  to  bankrupts ;  he  drew  no 
distinction  between  a  fraudulent  bankruptcy  and  a  failure 
from  unavoidable  causes,  and  how  should  she  ? 

**  But,  father,  could  you  not  have  prevented  this  misfor- 
tune?" 

"  My  brother  did  not  ask  my  advice ;  besides,  his  liabilities 
amount  to  four  millions." 

"How  much  is  a  million,  father?"  asked  Eugenie,  with 
the  simplicity  of  a  child  who  would  fain  have  its  wish  fulfilled 
at  once. 

"A  million?"  queried  Grandet.  "Why,  it  is  a  million 
francs,  four  hundred  thousand  five-franc  pieces ;  there  are 
twenty  sous  in  a  franc,  and  it  takes  five  francs  of  twenty  sous 
each  to  make  a  five-franc  piece." 

*'Mon  Dieu  /  Mon  Dieu  !  "  cried  Eugenie,  "  how  came  my 
uncle  to  have  four  millions  of  his  own  ?  Is  there  really  any- 
body in  France  who  has  so  many  millions  as  that?" 

Grandet  stroked  his  daughter's  chin  and  smiled.  The  wen 
seemed  to  grow  larger. 

"What  will  become  of  cousin  Charles?" 

"  He  will  set  out  for  the  East  Indies,  and  try  to  make  a 
fortune.     That  is  his  father's  wish." 

"  But  has  he  any  money  to  go  with  ?  " 

"  I  shall  pay  his  passage  out  as  far  as yes as  far  as 

Nantes." 

Eugenie  sprang  up  and  flung  her  arms  about  her  father's 
neck. 


92  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

"  Oh  !  father,"  she  said,  "you  are  good  !  " 

Her  warm  embrace  embarrassed  Grandet  somewhat,  per- 
haps, too,  his  conscience  was  not  quite  at  ease. 

"Does  it  take  a  long  while  to  make  a  million?"  she 
asked. 

"Lord  !  yes,"  said  the  cooper;  "you  know  what  a  Napo- 
leon is ;  well,  then,  it  takes  fifty  thousand  of  them  to  make  a 
million." 

"  Mamma,  we  will  have  a  neuvaine  said  for  him." 

"That  was  what  I  was  thinking,"  her  mother  replied. 

"Just  like  you!  always  thinking  how  to  spend  money. 
Really,  one  might  suppose  that  w^e  had  any  amount  of  money 
to  throw  away  !  " 

As  he  spoke,  a  sound  of  low  hoarse  sobbing,  more  ominous 
than  any  which  had  preceded  it,  came  from  the  garret.  Eu- 
genie and  her  mother  shuddered. 

"Nanon,"  called  Grandet,  "go  up  and  see  that  he  is  not 
killing  himself." 

"Look  here  !  you  two,"  he  continued,  turning  to  his  wife 
and  daughter,  whose  cheeks  grew  white  at  his  tones,  "  there 
is  to  be  no  nonsense,  mind  !  I  am  leaving  the  house.  I  am 
going  round  to  see  the  Dutchmen  wlio  are  going  to-day. 
Then  I  shall  go  to  Cruchot  and  have  a  talk  with  him  about 
all  this." 

He  went  out.  As  soon  as  the  door  closed  upon  Grandet, 
Eugenie  and  her  mother  breathed  more  freely.  The  girl  had 
never  felt  constraint  in  her  father's  presence  until  that  morn- 
ing ;  but  a  few  hours  had  wrought  rapid  changes  in  her  ideas 
and  feelings. 

"  Mamma,  how  many  louis  is  a  hogshead  of  wine  worth  ?  " 

"  Your  father  gets  something  between  a  hundred  and  a 
hundred  and  fifty  francs  for  his;  sometimes  two  hundred,  I 
believe,  from  what  I  have  heard  him  say." 

"And  would  there  be  fourteen  hundred  hogsheads  in  a 
vintage?" 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  93 

"  I  don't  know  how  many  there  are,  child,  upon  my  word  ; 
your  father  never  talks  about  business  to  me." 

"  But,  anyhow,  papa  must  be  rich." 

"May  be.  But  M.  Cruchot  told  me  that  your  father 
bought  Froidfond  two  years  ago.  That  would  be  a  heavy  pull 
on  him." 

Eugenie,  now  at  a  loss  as  to  her  father's  wealth,  went  no 
farther  with  her  arithmetic. 

'*  He  did  not  even  so  much  as  see  me,  the  poor  dear  !  " 
said  Nanon  on  her  return.  "  He  is  lying  there  on  his  bed 
like  a  calf,  crying  like  a  Magdalen;  you  never  saw  the  like ! 
Poor  young  man,  what  can  be  the  matter  with  him?  " 

"Let  us  go  up  at  once  and  comfort  him,  mamma j  if  we 
hear  a  knock,  we  will  come  downstairs." 

There  was  something  in  the  musical  tones  of  her  daughter's 
voice  which  Mme.  Grandet  could  not  resist.  Eugenie  was 
sublime  ;  she  was  a  girl  no  longer,  she  was  a  woman.  With 
beating  hearts  they  climbed  the  stairs  and  went  together  to 
Charles'  room.  The  door  was  open.  The  young  man  saw 
nothing,  and  heard  nothing  ;  he  was  absorbed  in  his  grief,  an 
inarticulate  cry  broke  from  him  now  and  again. 

"  How  he  loves  his  father!  "  said  Eugenie  in  a  low  voice, 
and  in  her  tone  there  was  an  unmistakable  accent  which  be- 
trayed the  passion  in  her  heart,  and  hopes  of  which  she  herself 
was  unaware.  Mme.  Grandet,  with  the  quick  instinct  of  a 
mother's  love,  glanced  at  her  daughter  and  spoke  in  a  low 
voice  in  her  ear. 

*'  Take  care,"  she  said,  "  or  you  may  love  him." 

**  Love  him!  "  said  Eug6nie.  "Ah  !  if  you  only  knew 
what  my  father  said." 

Charles  moved  slightly  as  he  lay,  and  saw  his  aunt  and 
cousin. 

"  I  have  lost  my  father,"  he  cried ;  "  my  poor  father !  If 
he  had  only  trusted  me  and  told  me  about  his  losses,  we 
might  have  worked  together   to  repair  them.     Mon  Dieu  / 


94  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

my  kind  father  !  I  was  so  sure  that  I  should  see  him  again^ 
and  I  said  good-bye  so  carelessly,  I  am  afraid,  never  think- 
ing " 

His  words  were  interrupted  by  sobs. 

"  We  will  surely  pray  for  him,"  said  Mme.  Grandet. 
**  Submit  yourself  to  the  will  of  God." 

"Take  courage,  cousin,"  said  Eugenie  gently;  "nothing 
can  give  your  father  back  to  you  ;  you  must  now  think  how 
to  save  your  honor " 

A  woman  always  has  her  wits  about  her,  even  in  her  capa- 
city of  comforter,  and  with  instinctive  tact  Eugenie  sought  to 
divert  her  cousin's  mind  from  his  sorrow  by  leading  him  to 
think  about  himself. 

"  My  honor?  "  cried  the  young  man,  hastily  pushing  back 
the  hair  from  his  eyes.  He  sat  upright  upon  the  bed,  and 
folded  his  arms.  "  Ah  !  true.  My  uncle  said  that  my  father 
had  failed." 

He  hid  his  face  in  his  hands  with  a  heartrending  cry  of 
pain. 

"Leave  me!  leave  me!  cousin  Eugenie,"  he  entreated. 
"  Oh  !  God,  forgive  my  father,  for  he  must  have  been  terribly 
unhappy  !  " 

There  was  something  in  the  sight  of  this  young  sorrow,  this 
utter  abandonment  of  grief,  that  was  horribly  engaging.  It 
was  a  sorrow  that  shrank  from  the  gaze  of  others,  and  Charles' 
gesture  of  entreaty  that  they  should  leave  him  to  himself  was 
understood  by  Eugenie  and  her  mother.  They  went  silently 
downstairs  again,  took  their  places  by  the  great  window,  and 
sewed  on  for  nearly  an  hour  without  a  word  to  each  other. 

Eugenie  had  looked  round  the  room ;  it  was  a  stolen 
glance.  In  one  of  those  hasty  surveys  by  which  a  girl  sees 
everything  in  a  moment,  she  had  noticed  the  pretty  trifles  on 
the  toilet-table — the  scissors,  the  razors  mounted  with  gold. 
The  gleams  of  splendor  and  luxury,  seen  amidst  all  this 
misery,  made  Charles  still  more  interesting  in  her  eyes,  per- 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  95 

haps  by  the  very  force  of  the  contrast.  Their  life  had  been 
so  lonely  and  so  quiet ;  such  an  event  as  this,  with  its  pain- 
ful interest,  had  never  broken  the  monotony  of  their-  lives, 
little  had  occurred  to  stir  their  imagination,  and  now  this 
tragical  drama  was  being  enacted  under  their  eyes. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Eugenie,  "  shall  we  wear  mourning  ?  " 

"Your  father  will  decide  that,"  replied  Mme.  Grandet, 
and  once  more  they  sewed  in  silence.  Eugenie's  needle 
moved  with  a  mechanical  regularity,  which  betrayed  her  pre- 
occupation of  mind.  The  first  wish  of  this  adorable  girl  was 
to  share  her  cousin's  mourning.  About  four  o'clock  a  sharp 
knock  at  the  door  sent  a  sudden  thrill  of  terror  through  Mme. 
Grandet. 

"What  can  have  brought  your  father  back?"  she  said  to 
her  daughter. 

The  vine-grower  came  in  in  high  good-humor.  He  rubbed 
his  hands  so  energetically  that  nothing  but  a  skin  like  leather 
could  have  borne  it,  and  indeed  his  hands  were  tanned  like 
Russia  leather,  though  the  fragrant  pine-rosin  and  incense 
had  been  omitted  in  the  process.  For  a  time  he  walked  up 
and  down  and  looked  at  the  weather,  but  at  last  his  secret 
escaped  him. 

♦*  I  have  hooked  them,  wife,"  he  said,  without  stammering ; 
"  I  have  them  safe.  Our  wine  is  sold  !  The  Dutchmen  and 
Belgians  were  setting  out  this  morning ;  I  hung  about  in  the 
market-place  in  front  of  their  inn,  looking  as  simple  as  I 
could.  What's-his-name — you  know  the  man — came  up  to 
me.  All  the  best  growers  are  hanging  off  and  holding  their 
vintages ;  they  wanted  to  wait,  and  so  they  can,  I  have  not 
hindered  them.  Our  Belgian  was  at  his  wits'  end,  I  saw  that. 
So  the  bargain  was  struck  ;  he  is  taking  the  whole  of  our  vin- 
tage at  two  hundred  francs  the  hogshead,  half  of  it  paid  down 
at  once  in  gold,  and  I  have  promissory  notes  for  the  rest. 
There  are  six  louis  for  you.  In  three  months'  time  prices 
will  go  down." 


96  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

The  last  words  came  out  quietly  enough,  but  there  was 
something  so  sardonic  in  the  tone  that  if  the  little  knots  of 
growers,  then  standing  in  the  twilight  in  the  market-place  of 
Saumur,  in  dismay  at  the  news  of  Grandet's  sale,  had  heard 
him  speak,  they  would  have  shuddered ;  there  would  have 
been  a  panic  on  the  market — wines  would  have  fallen  fifty 
per  cent. 

"You  have  a  thousand  hogsheads  this  year,  father,  have 
you  not?"  asked  Eugenie. 

"Yes,  little  girl." 

These  words  indicated  that  the  cooper's  joy  had  indeed 
reached  high-water  mark, 

**  That  will  mean  two  hundred  thousand  francs?" 

"Yes,  Mademoiselle  Grandet." 

"  Well,  then,  father,  you  can  easily  help  Charles." 

The  surprise,  the  wrath,  and  bewilderment  with  which 
Belshazzar  beheld  Mene,  Mene,  Tekel,  Upharsin,  written  upon 
his  palace  wall  were  as  nothing  compared  with  Grandet's 
cold  fury ;  he  had  forgotten  all  about  Charles,  and  now  he 
found  that  all  his  daughter's  inmost  thoughts  were  of  his 
nephew,  and  that  this  arithmetic  of  hers  referred  to  him.  It 
was  exasperating. 

"  Look  here  !  "  he  thundered ;  "  ever  since  that  scapegrace 
set  foot  in  my  house  everything  has  gone  askew.  You  take  it 
upon  yourselves  to  buy  sugar-plums,  and  make  a  great  set-out 
for  him.  I  will  not  have  these  doings.  I  should  think,  at 
n^y  sge,  I  ought  to  know  what  is  right  and  proper  to  do.  At 
any  rate,  I  have  no  need  to  take  lessons  from  my  daughter, 
nor  from  any  one  else.  I  shall  do  for  my  nephew  whatever  it 
is  right  and  proper  for  me  to  do ;  it  is  no  business  of  yours, 
you  need  not  meddle  in  it.  And  now,  as  for  you,  Eugenie," 
he  added,  turning  towards  her,  "if  you  say  another  word 
about  it,  I  will  send  you  and  Nanon  off  to  the  Abbey  at 
Noyers,  see  if  I  don't.  Where  is  that  boy?  has  he  come 
downstairs  yet?" 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  97 

"No,  dear,"  answered  Mme.  Grandet. 

"  Why,  what  is  he  doing  then  ?  " 

"  He  is  crying  for  his  father,"  Eugenie  said. 

Grandet  looked  at  his  daughter,  and  found  nothing  to  say. 
There  was  some  touch  of  the  father  even  in  him.  He  took 
one  or  two  turns  up  and  down,  and  then  went  straight  to 
his  strong-room  to  think  over  possible  investments.  He  had 
thoughts  of  buying  consols.  Those  two  thousand  acres  of 
woodland  had  brought  him  in  six  hundred  thousand  francs; 
then  there  was  the  money  from  the  sale  of  the  poplars,  there 
was  last  year's  income  from  various  sources,  and  this  year's 
savings,  to  say  nothing  of  the  bargain  which  he  had  just  con- 
cluded ;  so  that,  leaving  those  two  hundred  thousand  francs 
out  of  the  question,  he  possessed  a  lump  sum  of  nine  hundred 
thousand  livres.  That  twenty  per  cent.,  to  be  made  in  so 
short  a  time  upon  his  outlay,  tempted  him.  Consols  stood  at 
seventy.  He  jotted  down  his  calculations  on  the  margin  of 
the  paper  that  had  brought  the  news  of  his  brother's  death ; 
the  moans  of  his  nephew  sounded  in  his  ears  the  while,  but 
he  did  not  hear  them  ;  he  went  on  with  his  work  until  Nanon 
thumped  vigorously  on  the  thick  wall  to  summon  her  master 
to  dinner.  On  the  last  step  of  the  staircase  beneath  the  arch- 
way, Grandet  paused  and  thought. 

"There  is  the  interest  beside  the  eight  per  cent. — I  will  do 
it.  Fifteen  hundred  thousand  francs  in  two  years'  time,  in 
gold  from  Paris  too,  full  weight.  Well,  what  has  become  of 
my  nephew?" 

"  He  said  he  did  not  want  anything,"  replied  Nanon.  *'  He 
ought  to  eat,  or  he  will  fall  ill." 

"It  is  so  much  saved,"  was  her  master's  comment. 

"Lord  !  yes,"  she  replied. 

"  Pooh  !  he  will  not  keep  on  crying  for  ever.  Hunger  drives 
the  wolf  from  the  woods." 

Dinner  was  a  strangely  silent  meal.     When  the  cloth  had 
been  removed,  Mme.  Grandet  spoke  to  her  husband : 
7 


98  EUG&NIE    GRANDE T. 

"We  ought  to  go  into  mourning,  dear." 

"  Really,  Mme.  Grandet,  you  must  be  hard  up  for  ways  of 
getting  rid  of  money.  Mourning  is  in  the  heart ;  it  is  not 
put  on  with  clothes." 

"But  for  a  brother  mourning  is  indispensable,  and  the 
Church  bids  us " 

"  Then  buy  mourning  out  of  your  six  louis ;  a  band  of  crape 
will  do  for  me ;  you  can  get  me  a  band  of  crape." 

Eugenie  said  nothing,  and  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven.  Her 
generous  instincts,  so  long  repressed  and  dormant,  had  been 
suddenly  awakened,  and  every  kindly  thought  had  been  harshly 
checked  as  it  had  arisen.  Outwardly  this  evening  passed  just 
as  thousands  .of  others  had  passed  in  their  monotonous  lives, 
but  for  the  two  women  it  was  the  most  painful  that  they  had 
ever  spent.  Eugenie  sewed  without  raising  her  head ;  she 
took  no  notice  of  the  workbox  which  Charles  had  looked  at 
so  scornfully  yesterday  evening.  Mme.  Grandet  knitted  away 
at  her  cuffs.  Grandet  sat  twirling  his  thumbs,  absorbed  in 
schemes  which  should  one  day  bring  about  results  that  would 
startle  Saumur.  Four  hours  went  by.  Nobody  dropped  in 
to  see  them.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  whole  town  was  ringing 
with  the  news  of  Grandet's  sharp  practice,  following  on  the 
news  of  his  brother's  failure  and  his  nephew's  arrival.  So  im- 
peratively did  Saumur  feel  the  need  to  thrash  these  matters 
thoroughly  out,  that  all  the  vine-growers,  great  or  small,  were 
assembled  beneath  the  des  Grassins'  roof,  and  frightful  were 
the  imprecations  which  were  launched  at  the  head  of  their  late 
mayor. 

Nanon  was  spinning ;  the  whirr  of  her  wheel  was  the  only 
sound  in  the  great  room  beneath  the  gray-painted  rafters. 

"Our  tongues  don't  go  very  fast,"  she  said,  showing  her 
large  teeth,  white  as  blanched  almonds. 

"There  is  no  call  for  them  to  go,"  answered  Grandet, 
roused  from  his  calculations. 

He  beheld  a  vision  of  the  future — he  saw  eight  millions  in 


EUGENIE   CRANDET.  99 

three  years'  time — he  had  set  forth  on  a  long  voyage  upon  a 
golden  sea. 

"  Let  us  go  to  bed.  I  will  go  up  and  wish  my  nephew  a 
good-night  from  you  all,  and  see  if  he  wants  anything." 

Mme.  Grandet  stayed  on  the  landing  outside  her  room-door 
to  hear  what  her  worthy  husband  might  say  to  Charles. 
Eugenie,  bolder  than  her  mother,  went  a  step  or  two  up  the 
second  flight. 

"Well,  nephew,  you  are  feeling  unhappy?  Yes,  cry,  it  is 
only  natural,  a  father  is  a  father.  But  we  must  bear  our 
troubles  patiently.  Whilst  you  have  been  crying,  I  have  been 
thinking  for  you;  I  am  a  kind  uncle,  you  see.  Come,  don't 
lose  heart.  Will  you  take  a  little  wine  ?  Wine  costs  nothing 
at  Saumur;  it  is  common  here;  they  offer  it  as  they  might 
offer  you  a  cup  of  tea  in  the  Indies.  But  you  are  all  in  the 
dark,"  Grandet  went  on.  "That's  bad,  that's  bad;  one 
ought  to  see  what  one  is  doing." 

Grandet  went  to  the  chimney-piece. 

"What!"  he  cried,  "a  wax-candle!  Where  the  devil 
have  they  fished  that  from  ?  I  believe  the  wenches  would  pull 
up  the  floor  of  my  house  to  cook  eggs  for  that  boy." 

Mother  and  daughter,  hearing  these  words,  fled  to  their 
rooms,  and  crept  into  their  beds  like  frightened   mice. 

"Mme.  Grandet,  you  have  a  lot  of  money  somewhere,  it 
seems,"  said  the  vine-grower,  walking  into  his  wife's  rooms. 

"  I  am  saying  my  prayers,  dear;  wait  a  little,"  faltered  the 
poor  mother. 

"  The  devil  take  your  pious  notions  !  "  growled  Grandet. 

Misers  have  no  belief  in  a  life  to  come,  the  present  is  all  in 
all  to  them.  But  if  this  thought  gives  an  insight  into  the 
miser's  springs  of  action,  it  possesses  a  wider  application,  it 
throws  a  pitiless  light  upon  our  own  era — for  money  is  the  one 
all-powerful  force,  ours  is  pre-eminently  the  epoch  when 
money  is  the  lawgiver,  socially  and  politically.  Books  and 
institutions,  theories  and  practice,  all  alike  combine  to  weaken 


100  EUGENIE   GRAND ET. 

the  belief  in  a  future  life,  the  foundation  on  which  the  social 
edifice  has  been  slowly  reared  for  eighteen  hundred  years. 
The  grave  has  almost  lost  its  terrors  for  us.  That  future  which 
awaited  us  beyond  the  requiem  has  been  transported  into  the 
present,  and  one  hope  and  one  ambition  possesses  us  all — to 
•pzs'S,  per  fas  et  nefas  into  this  earthly  paradise  of  luxury,  vanity, 
and  pleasure,  to  deaden  the  soul  and  mortify  the  body  for  a 
brief  possession  of  this  promised  land,  just  as  in  other  days 
men  were  found  willing  to  lay  down  their  lives  and  to  suffer 
martyrdom  for  the  hope  of  eternal  bliss.  This  thought  can 
be  read  at  large ;  it  is  stamped  upon  our  age,  which  asks  of 
the  voter — the  man  who  makes  the  laws — not  ''What  do  you 
think?  "  but  "  What  can  you  pay?  "  And  what  will  become 
of  us  when  this  doctrine  has  been  handed  down  from  the 
bourgeoisie  to  the  people?    , 

**  Mme.  Grandet,  have  you  finished?"  asked  the  cooper. 

"I  am  praying  for  you,  dear." 

•'Very  well,  good-night.  To-morrow  morning  I  shall  have 
something  to  say  to  you." 

Poor  woman  !  she  betook  herself  to  sleep  like  a  school-boy 
who  has  not  learned  his  lessons,  and  sees  before  him  the  angry 
face  of  the  master  when  he  wakes.  Sheer  terror  led  her  to 
wrap  the  sheets  about  her  head  to  shut  out  all  sounds,  but 
just  at  that  moment  she  felt  a  kiss  on  her  forehead ;  it  was 
Eugenie  who  had  slipped  into  the  room  in  the  darkness,  and 
stood  there  barefooted  in  her  nightdress. 

"Oh!  mother,  my  kind  mother,"  she  said,  "I  shall  tell 
him  to-morrow  morning  that  it  was  all  my  doing." 

"No,  don't;  if  you  do,  he  will  send  you  away  to  Noyers. 
Let  me  manage  it;  he  will  not  eat  me,  after  all." 

*'  Oh  !  mamma,  do  you  hear?  " 

"What?" 

"He  is  crying  still." 

"  Go  back  to  bed,  dear.  The  floor  is  damp,  it  will  strike 
cold  to  your  feet." 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  101 

So  ended  the  solemn  day,  which  had  brought  for  the  poor 
wealthy  heiress  a  lifelong  burden  of  sorrow ;  never  again  would 
Eugenie  Grandet  sleep  as  soundly  or  as  lightly  as  heretofore. 
It  not  seldom  happens  that  at  some  time  in  their  lives  this  or 
that  human  being  will  act  literally  "  unlike  himself,"  and  yet 
in  very  truth  in  accordance  with  his  nature.  Is  it  not  rather 
that  we  form  our  hasty  conclusions  of  him  without  the  aid  of 
such  light  as  psychology  affords,  without  attempting  to  trace 
the  mysterious  birth  and  growth  of  the  causes  which  led  to 
these  unforeseen  results?  And  this  passion,  which  had  its 
roots  in  the  depths  of  Eugenie's  nature,  should  perhaps  be 
studied  as  if  it  were  the  delicate  fibre  of  some  living  organism 
to  discover  the  secret  of  its  growth.  It  was  a  passion  that 
would  influence  her  whole  life,  so  that  one  day  it  would  be 
sneeringly  called  a  malady.  Plenty  of  people  would  prefer 
to  consider  a  catastrophe  improbable  rather  than  undertake 
the  task  of  tracing  the  sequence  of  the  events  that  led  to  it, 
to  discovering  how  the  links  of  the  chain  were  forged  one  by 
one  in  the  mind  of  the  actor.  In  this  case,  Eugenie's  past 
life  will  suffice  to  keen  observers  of  human  nature ;  her  artless 
impulsiveness,  her  sudden  outburst  of  tenderness  will  be  no 
surprise  to  them.  Womanly  pity,  that  treacherous  feeling, 
had  filled  her  soul  but  the  more  completely  because  her  life 
had  been  so  uneventful  that  it  had  never  been  so  called  forth 
before. 

So  the  trouble  and  excitement  of  the  day  disturbed  her 
rest  \  she  woke  again  and  again  to  listen  for  any  sound  from 
her  cousin's  room,  thinking  that  she  still  heard  the  moans 
that  all  day  long  had  vibrated  through  her  heart.  Sometimes 
she  seemed  to  see  him  lying  up  there,  dying  of  grief;  some- 
times she  dreamed  that  he  was  being  starved  to  death.  To- 
wards morning  she  distinctly  heard  a  terrible  cry.  She  dressed 
herself  at  once,  and  in  the  dim  light  of  the  dawn  fled  noise- 
lessly up  the  stairs  to  her  cousin's  room.  The  door  stood 
open,  the  wax-candle  had  burned  itself  down  to  the  socket. 


102  EUG&NIE   GRANDET. 

Nature  had  asserted  herself;  Charles,  still  dressed,  was  sleep- 
ing in  the  armchair,  with  his  head  fallen  forward  on  the  bed ; 
he  had  been  dreaming  as  famished  people  dream.  Eugenie 
admired  the  fair  young  face.  It  was  flushed  and  tear-stained ; 
the  eyelids  were  swollen  with  weeping  3  he  seemed  to  be  still 
crying  in  his  sleep,  and  Eugenie's  own  tears  fell  fast.  Some 
dim  feeling  that  his  cousin  was  present  awakened  Charles ;  he 
opened  his  eyes,  and  saw  her  distress. 

"Pardon  me,  cousin,"  he  said  dreamily.  Evidently  he 
had  lost  all  reckoning  of  time,  and  did  not  know  where  he 
was. 

"There  are  hearts  here  that  feel  for  you,  cousin,  and  we 
thought  that  you  might  perhaps  want  something.  You  should 
go  to  bed ;  you  will  tire  yourself  out  if  you  sleep  like  that." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  that  is  true." 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said,  and  fled,  half  in  confusion,  half-glad 
that  she  had  come.  Innocence  alone  dares  to  be  tlms  bold, 
and  virtue  armed  with  knowledge  weighs  its  actions  as  care- 
fully as  vice. 

Eugenie  had  not  trembled  in  her  cousin's  presence,  but 
when  she  reached  her  own  room  again  she  could  scarcely 
stand.  Her  ignorant  life  had  suddenly  come  to  an  end  ;  she 
remonstrated  with  herself,  and  blamed  herself  again  and 
again.  "What  will  he  think  of  me?  He  will  believe  that  I 
love  him."  Yet  she  knew  that  this  was  exactly  what  she 
wished  him  to  believe.  Love  spoke  plainly  within  her,  know- 
ing by  instinct  how  love  calls  forth  love.  The  moment  when 
she  stole  into  her  cousin's  room  became  a  memorable  event 
in  the  girl's  lonely  life.  Are  there  not  thoughts  and  deeds 
which,  in  love,  are  for  some  souls  like  a  solemn  betrothal? 

An  hour  later  she  went  to  her  mother's  room,  to  help  her 
to  dress,  as  she  always  did.  Then  the  two  women  went  down- 
stairs and  took  their  places  by  the  window,  and  waited  for 
Grandet's  coming  in  the  anxiety  whicli  freezes  or  burns. 
Some  natures  cower,  and  others  grow  reckless,  when  a  scene 


EUGENIE   GRANDE T.  103 

or  painful  agitation  is  in  prospect ;  the  feeling  of  dread  is  so 
widely  felt  that  domestic  animals  will  cry  out  when  the 
slightest  pain  is  inflicted  on  them  as  a  punishment,  while  the 
same  creature  if  hurt  inadvertently  will  not  utter  a  sound. 

The  cooper  came  downstairs,  spoke  in  an  absent-minded 
way  to  his  wife,  kissed  Eugenie,  and  sat  down  to  table.  He 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  last  night's  threats. 

' '  What  has  become  of  my  nephew  ?  The  child  is  not 
much  in  the  way." 

"He  is  asleep,  sir,"  said  Nanon. 

"So  much  the  better,  he  won't  want  a  wax-candle  for 
that,"  said  Grandet  facetiously. 

His  extraordinary  mildness  and  satirical  humor  puzzled 
Mme.  Grandet ;  she  looked  earnestly  at  her  husband.  The 
good  man — here,  perhaps,  it  may  be  observed  that  in  Touraine, 
Anjou,  Poitou,  and  Brittany  the  designation  good  man  {bon- 
homme),  which  has  been  so  often  applied  to  Grandet,  conveys 
no  idea  of  merit ;  it  is  allowed  to  people  of  the  worst  temper 
as  well  as  to  good-natured  idiots,  and  is  applied  without  dis- 
tinction to  any  man  of  a  certain  age — the  good  man,  there- 
fore, took  up  his  hat  and  gloves  with  the  remark — 

**  I  am  going  to  have  a  look  round  in  the  market-place ;  I 
want  to  meet  the  Cruchots." 

"Eugenie,  your  father  certainly  has  something  on  his 
mind." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Grandet  always  slept  but  little,  and 
was  wont  to  spend  half  the  night  in  revolving  and  maturing 
schemes,  a  process  by  which  his  views,  observations,  and  plans 
gained  amazingly  in  clearness  and  precision  ;  indeed,  this  was 
the  secret  of  that  constant  success  which  was  the  admiration 
of  Saumur.  Time  and  patience  combined  will  effect  most 
things,  and  the  man  who  accomplishes  much  is  the  man  with 
the  strong  will  who  can  wait.  The  miser's  life  is  a  constant 
exercise  of  every  human  faculty  in  the  service  of  a  personality. 
He  believes  in  self-love  and  interest,  and  in  no  other  motives 


104  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

of  action,  but  interest  is  in  some  sort  another  form  of  self- 
love,  to  wit,  a  practical  form  dealing  with  the  tangible  and  the 
concrete,  and  both  forms  are  comprised  in  one  master-passion, 
for  self-love  and  interest  are  but  two  manifestations  of  egoism. 
Hence,  perhaps,  the  prodigious  interest  which  a  miser  excites 
when  cleverly  put  upon  the  stage.  What  man  is  utterly 
without  ambition  ?  And  what  social  ambition  can  be  obtained 
without  money  ?  Every  one  has  something  in  common  with 
this  being;  he  is  a  personification  of  humanity,  and  yet  is 
revolting  to  all  the  feelings  of  humanity. 

Grandet  really  "had  something  on  his  mind,"  as  his  wife 
used  to  say.  In  Grandet,  as  in  every  miser,  there  was  a  keen 
relish  for  the  game,  a  constant  craving  to  play  men  off  one 
against  another  for  his  own  benefit,  to  mulct  them-  of  their 
crowns  without  breaking  the  law.  And  did  not  every  victim 
who  fell  into  his  clutches  renew  his  sense  of  power,  his  just 
contempt  for  the  weak  of  the  earth  who  let  themselves  fall 
such  an  easy  prey  ?  Ah !  who  has  understood  the  meaning 
of  the  lamb  that  lies  in  peace  at  the  feet  of  God,  that  most 
touching  symbol  of  meek  victims  who  are  doomed  to  suffer 
here  below,  and  of  the  future  that  awaits  them  hereafter,  of 
weakness  and  suffering  glorified  at  last  ?  But  here  on  earth 
it  is  quite  otherwise  ;  the  lamb  is  the  miser's  legitimate  prey, 
and  by  him  (when  it  is  fat  enough)  it  is  contemptuously 
penned,  killed,  cooked,  and  eaten.  On  money  and  on  this 
feeling  of  contemptuous  superiority,  we  may  say,  the  miser 
thrives. 

During  the  night  this  excellent  man's  ideas  had  taken  an 
entirely  new  turn  ;  hence  his  unusual  mildness.  He  had  been 
weaving  a  web  to  entangle  them  in  Paris ;  he  would  envelop 
them  in  its  toils,  they  should  be  as  clay  in  his  hands ;  they 
should  hope  and  tremble,  come  and  go,  toil  and  sweat,  and 
all  for  his  amusement,  all  for  the  old  cooper  in  the  dingy 
room  at  the  head  of  the  worm-eaten  staircase  in  the  old  house 
at  Saumur ;  it  tickled  his  sense  of  humor. 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  105 

He  had  been  thinking  about  his  nephew.  He  wanted  to 
save  his  dead  brother's  name  from  dishonor  in  a  way  that 
should  not  cost  a  penny  either  to  his  nephew  or  to  himself. 
He  was  about  to  invest  his  money  for  three  years,  his  mind 
was  quite  at  leisure  from  his  own  affairs  ;  he  really  needed 
some  outlet  for  his  malicious  energy,  and  here  was  an  oppor- 
tunity supplied  by  his  brother's  failure.  The  claws  were  idle, 
he  had  nothing  to  squeeze  between  them,  so  he  would  pound 
the  Parisians  for  Charles'  benefit,  and  exhibit  himself  in  the 
light  of  an  excellent  brother  at  a  very  cheap  rate.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  the  honor  of  the  family  name  counted  for  very 
little  with  him  in  this  matter ;  he  looked  at  it  from  the  purely 
impersonal  point  of  view  of  the  gambler,  who  likes  to  see  a 
game  well  played,  although  it  is  no  affair  of  his.  The 
Cruchots  were  necessary  to  him,  but  he  did  not  mean  to  go 
in  search  of  them  ;  they  should  come  to  him.  That  very 
evening  the  comedy  should  begin,  the  main  outlines  were 
decided  upon  already,  to-morrow  he  would  be  held  up  as  an 
object  of  admiration  all  over  the  town,  and  his  generosity 
should  not  cost  him  a  farthing  ! 

Eugenie,  in  her  father's  absence,  was  free  to  busy  herself 
openly  for  her  cousin,  to  feel  the  pleasure  of  pouring  out  for 
him  in  many  ways  the  wealth  of  pity  that  filled  her  heart ;  for 
in  pity  alone  women  are  content  that  we  should  feel  their 
superiority,  and  the  sublimity  of  devotion  is  the  one  height 
which  they  can  pardon  us  for  leaving  to  them. 

Three  or  four  times  Eugenie  went  to  listen  to  her  cousin's 
breathing,  that  she  might  know  whether  he  was  awake  or  still 
sleeping  ;  and  when  she  was  sure  that  he  was  rising,  she 
turned  her  attention  to  his  breakfast,  and  cream,  coffee, 
fruit,  eggs,  plates,  and  glasses  were  all  in  turn  the  objects 
of  her  especial  care.  She  softly  climbed  the  rickety  stairs 
to  listen  again.  Was  he  dressing  ?  Was  he  still  sobbing  ? 
She  went  to  the  door  at  last  and  spoke — 
•'Cousin!  " 


106  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

"  Yes,  cousin." 

**  Would  you  rather  have  breakfast  downstairs  or  up  here  in 
your  room?" 

'*  Whichever  you  please." 

*'  How  do  you  feel  ?  " 

*'  I  am  ashamed  to  say  that  I  am  hungry." 

This  talk  through  the  closed  door  was  like  an  episode  in  a 
romance  for  Eugenie. 

"  Very  well  then,  we  will  bring  your  breakfast  up  to  your 
room,  so  that  my  father  may  not  be  vexed  about  it." 

She  sprang  downstairs,  and  ran  into  the  kitchen  with  the 
swiftness  of  a  bird. 

*'  Nanon,  just  go  and  set  his  room  straight." 

The  familiar  staircase  which  she  had  gone  up  and  down  so 
often,  and  which  echoed  with  every  sound,  seemed  no  longer 
old  in  Eugenie's  eyes;  it  was  radiant  with  light,  it  seemed  to 
speak  a  language  which  she  understood,  it  was  young  again  as 
she  herself  was,  young  like  the  love  in  her  heart.  And  the 
mother,  the  kind,  indulgent  mother,  was  ready  to  lend  herself 
to  her  daughter's  whims,  and  as  soon  as  Charles'  room  was 
ready  they  both  went  thither  to  sit  with  him.  Does  not 
Christian  charity  bid  us  comfort  the  mourner  ?  Little  relig- 
ious sophistries  were  not  wanting  by  which  the  women  justified 
themselves. 

Charles  Grandet  received  the  most  tender  and  affectionate 
care.  Such  delicate  tact  and  sweet  kindness  touched  him 
very  closely  in  his  desolation ;  and  for  these  two  souls,  they 
found  a  moment's  freedom  from  the  restraint  under  which 
they  lived  ;  they  were  at  home  in  an  atmosphere  of  sorrow ; 
they  could  give  him  the  quick  sympathy  of  fellowship  in  mis- 
fortune. Eugenie  could  avail  herself  of  the  privilege  of  rela- 
tionship to  set  his  linen  in  order,  and  to  arrange  the  trifles 
that  lay  on  the  dressing-table ;  she  could  admire  the  wonder- 
ful knickknacks  at  her  leisure ;  all  the  paraphernalia  of 
luxury,  the  delicately-wrought  gold  and  silver  passed  through 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  107 

her  hands,  her  fingers  dwelt  lingeringly  on  them  under  the  pre- 
text of  looking  closely  at  the  workmanship. 

Charles  was  deeply  touched  by  the  generous  interest  which 
his  aunt  and  cousin  took  in  him.  He  knew  Parisian  life 
quite  sufficiently  to  know  that  under  these  circumstances  his 
old  acquaintances  and  friends  would  have  grown  cold  and 
distant  at  once.  But  his  trouble  had  brought  out  all  the 
peculiar  beauty  of  Eugenie's  character,  and  he  began  to 
admire  the  simplicity  of  manner  which  had  provoked  his 
amusement  but  yesterday.  So  when  Eugenie  waited  on  her 
cousin  with  such  frank  good-will,  taking  from  Nanon  the 
earthenware  bowl  full  of  coffee  and  cream  to  set  it  before  him 
herself,  the  Parisian's  eyes  filled  with  tears  ;  and  when  he  met 
her  kind  glance,  he  impulsively  took  her  hand  in  his  and  fer- 
vently kissed  it. 

"Well,  what  is  the  matter  now?"  she  asked. 

•*  Oh  !  they  are  tears  of  gratitude,"  he  answered. 

Eugenie  turned  hastily  away,  took  the  candles  from  the 
chimney-piece  and  held  them  out  to  Nanon. 

"  Here,"  she  said,  "  take  these  away." 

When  she  could  look  at  her  cousin  again,  the  flush  was  still 
on  her  face,  but  her  eyes  at  least  did  not  betray  her,  and  gave 
no  sign  of  the  excess  of  joy  that  flooded  her  heart ;  yet  the 
same  thought  was  dawning  in  both  their  souls,  and  could  be 
read  in  the  eyes  of  either^  and  they  knew  that  the  future  was 
theirs.  This  thrill  of  happiness  was  all  the  sweeter  to  Charles 
in  his  great  sorrow,  because  it  was  so  little  expected. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  both  the  women  hur- 
ried down  to  their  places  by  the  window.  It  was  lucky  for 
them  that  their  flight  downstairs  was  sufficiently  precipitate, 
and  that  they  were  at  their  work  when  Grandet  came  in,  for 
if  he  had  met  them  beneath  the  archway,  all  his  suspicions 
would  be  aroused  at  once.  After  the  mid-day  meal,  which  he 
took  standing,  the  keeper,  who  had  not  yet  received  his 
promised  reward,  appeared  from  Froidfond,   bringing  with 


108  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

him  a  hare,  some  partridges  shot  in  the  park,  a  few  eels,  and 
a  couple  of  pike  sent  by  him  from  the  miller's. 

"  Aha  !  so  here  is  old  Cornoiller ;  you  come  just  when  you 
are  wanted,  like  salt  fish  in  Lent.     Is  all  that  fit  to  eat?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  all  killed  the  day  before  yesterday." 

**  Come,  Nanon,  look  alive  !  Just  take  this,  it  will  do  for 
dinner  to-day;  the  two  Cruchots  are  coming." 

Nanon  opened  her  eyes  with  amazement,  and  stared  first  at 
one  and  then  at  another. 

"Oh!  indeed,"  she  said,  "and  where  are  the  herbs  and 
the  bacon  to  come  from  ?  " 

"Wife,"  said  Grandet,  "let  Nanon  have  six  francs,  and 
remind  me  to  go  down  into  the  cellar  to  look  out  a  bottle  of 
good  wine." 

"  Well,  then,  M.  Grandet,"  the  gamekeeper  began  (he 
wished  to  see  the  question  of  his  salary  properly  settled,  and 
was  duly  primed  with  a  speech),  "  M.  Grandet " 

"Tut,  tut,  tut,"  said  Grandet,  "I  know  what  you  are 
going  to  say ;  you  are  a  good  fellow,  we  will  see  about  that 
to-morrow,  I  am  very  busy  to-day.  Give  him  five  francs, 
wife,"  he  added,  looking  at  Mme.  Grandet,  and  with  that  he 
beat  a  retreat.  The  poor  woman  was  only  too  happy  to  pur- 
chase peace  at  the  price  of  eleven  francs.  She  knew  by  ex- 
perience that  Grandet  usually  kept  quiet  for  a  fortnight  after 
he  had  made  her  disburse  coin  by  coin  the  money  which  he 
had  given  her. 

"  There,  Cornoiller,"  she  said,  as  she  slipped  ten  francs  into 
his  hand ;  "we  will  repay  you  for  your  services  one  of  these  days. " 

Cornoiller  had  no  answer  ready,  so  he  went. 

"Madame,"  said  Nanon,  who  had  by  this  time  put  on 
her  black  bonnet  and  had  a  basket  on  her  arm,  "three  francs 
will  be  quite  enough ;  keep  the  rest.  I  shall  manage  just  as 
well  with  three." 

"  Let  us  have  a  good  dinner,  Nanon ;  my  cousin  is  coming 
downstairs,"  said  Eugenie. 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  109 

"There  is  something  very  extraordinary  going  on,  I  am 
sure,"  said  Mme.  Grandet.  "This  makes  the  third  time 
since  we  were  married  that  your  father  has  asked  any  one  here 
to  dinner." 

It  was  nearly  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon;  Eugenie  and 
her  mother  had  laid  the  cloth  and  set  the  table  for  six  persons, 
and  the  master  of  the  house  had  brought  up  two  or  three 
bottles  of  the  exquisite  wines,  which  are  jealously  hoarded  in 
the  cellars  of  the  vine-growing  district. 

Charles  came  into  the  dining-room  looking  white  and  sad  ; 
there  was  a  pathetic  charm  about  his  gestures,  his  face,  his 
looks,  the  tones  of  his  voice ;  his  sorrow  had  given  him  the 
interesting  look  that  women  like  so  well,  and  Eugenie  only 
loved  him  the  more  because  his  features  were  worn  with  pain. 
Perhaps,  too,  this  trouble  had  brought  them  nearer  in  other 
ways.  Charles  was  no  longer  the  rich  and  handsome  young 
man  who  lived  in  a  sphere  far  beyond  her  ken  ;  he  was  a 
kinsman  in  deep  and  terrible  distress,  and  sorrow  is  a  great 
leveler.  Woman  has  this  in  common  with  the  angels — all 
suffering  creatures  are  under  her  protection. 

Charles  and  Eugenie  understood  each  other  without  a  word 
being  spoken  on  either  side.  The  poor  dandy  of  yesterday, 
fallen  from  his  high  estate,  to-day  was  an  orphan,  who  sat  in 
a  corner  of  the  room,  quiet,  composed,  and  proud;  but  from 
time  to  time  he  met  his  cousin's  eyes,  her  kind  and  affection- 
ate glance  rested  on  him,  and  compelled  him  to  shake  off  his 
dark  and  sombre  broodings,  and  to  look  forward  with  her  to 
a  future  full  of  hope,  in  which  she  loved  to  think  that  she 
might  share. 

The  news  of  Grandet's  dinner-party  caused  even  greater 
excitement  in  Saumur  than  the  sale  of  his  vintage,  although 
this  latter  proceeding  had  been  a  crime  of  the  blackest  dye, 
an  act  of  high  treason  against  the  vine-growing  interest.  If 
Grandet's  banquet  to  the  Cruchots  has  been  prompted  by  the 
same  idea  which  on  a  memorable  occasion  cost  Alcibiades' 


110  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

dog  its  tail,  history  might  perhaps  have  heard  of  the  miser ; 
but  he  felt  himself  to  be  above  public  opinion  in  this  town 
which  he  exploited ;  he  held  Saumur  too  cheap. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  des  Grassins  heard  of  Guillaume 
Grandet's  violent  end  and  impending  bankruptcy.  Tliey  de- 
termined to  pay  a  visit  to  their  client  that  evening,  to  condole 
with  him  in  his  affliction,  and  to  show  a  friendly  interest ; 
while  they  endeavored  to  discover  the  motives  which  could 
have  led  Grandet  to  invite  the  Cruchots  to  dinner  at  such  a 
time. 

Precisely  at  five  o'clock  President  C.  de  Bonfons  and  his 
uncle  the  notary  arrived,  dressed  up  to  the  nines  this  time. 
The  guests  seated  themselves  at  table,  and  began  by  attacking 
their  dinner  with  remarkably  good  appetites.  Grandet  was 
solemn,  Charles  was  silent,  Eugenie  was  dumb,  and  Mme. 
Grandet  said  no  more  than  usual ;  if  it  had  been  a  funeral 
repast,  it  could  not  well  have  been  less  lively.  When  they 
rose  from  the  table,  Charles  addressed  his  aunt  and  uncle — 

"  Will  you  permit  me  to  withdraw  ?  I  have  some  long  and 
difficult  letters  to  write." 

"  By  all  means,  nephew." 

When  Charles  had  left  the  room,  and  his  amiable  relative 
could  fairly  assume  that  he  was  out  of  earshot  and  deep  in  his 
correspondence,  Grandet  gave  his  wife  a  sinister  glance. 

"  Mme.  Grandet,  what  we  are  going  to  say  will  be  Greek 
to  you ;  it  is  half-past  seven  o'clock,  you  ought  to  be  off  to 
bed  by  this  time.  Good-night,  my  daughter."  He  kissed 
Eugenie,  and  mother  and  daughter  left  the  room. 

Then  the  drama  began.  Now,  if  ever  in  his  life,  Grandet 
displayed  all  the  shrewdness  which  he  had  acquired  in  the 
course  of  his  long  experience  of  men  and  business,  and  all  the 
cunning  which  had  gained  him  the  nickname  of  "old  fox" 
among  those  who  had  felt  his  teeth  a  little  too  sharply.  Had 
the  ambition  of  the  late  mayor  of  Saumur  soared  a  little  higher; 
if  he  had  had  the  luck  to  rise  to  a  higher  social  sphere,  and 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  Ill 

destiny  had  sent  him  to  mingle  in  some  congress  in  which 
the  fate  of  nations  is  at  stake,  the  genius  which  he  was  now 
devoting  to  his  own  narrow  ends  would  doubtless  have  done 
France  glorious  service.  And  yet,  after  all,  the  probability  is 
that  once  away  from  Saumur  the  worthy  cooper  would  have 
cut  but  a  poor  figure,  and  that  minds,  like  certain  plants  and 
animals,  are  sterile  when  removed  to  a  distant  climate  and  an 
alien  soil, 

"  M-m-monsieur  le  P-p-pr6sident,  you  were  s-s-saying  that 
b-b-bankruptcy ' ' 

Here  the  trick  of  stammering  which  it  had  pleased  the  vine- 
grower  to  assume  so  long  ago  that  every  one  believed  it  to  be 
natural  to  him  (like  the  deafness  of  which  he  was  wont  to 
complain  in  rainy  weather),  grew  so  unbearably  tedious  for 
the  Cruchot  pair,  that  as  they  strove  to  catch  the  syllables, 
they  made  unconscious  grimaces,  moving  their  lips  as  if  they 
would  fain  finish  the  words  in  which  the  cooper  entangled 
both  himself  and  them  at  his  pleasure. 

And  here,  perhaps,  is  the  fitting  place  to  record  the  history 
of  Grandet's  deafness  and  the  impediment  in  his  speech.  No 
one  in  Anjou  had  better  hearing  or  could  speak  Angevin  French 
more  clearly  and  distinctly  than  the  wily  vine-grower — when 
he  chose.  Once  upon  a  time,  in  spite  of  all  his  shrewdness, 
a  Jew  had  gotten  the  better  of  him.  In  the  course  of  their  dis- 
cussion the  Israelite  had  applied  his  hand  to  his  ear,  in  the 
manner  of  an  ear-trumpet,  the  better  to  catch  what  was  said, 
and  had  gibbered  to  such  purpose  in  his  search  for  a  word, 
that  Grandet,  a  victim  to  his  own  humanity,  felt  constrained 
to  suggest  to  that  crafty  Hebrew  the  words  and  ideas  of  which 
the  Israelite  appeared  to  be  in  search,  to  finish  himself  the 
reasonings  of  the  said  Hebrew,  to  say  for  that  accursed  alien 
all  that  he  ought  to  have  said  for  himself,  till  Grandet  ended 
by  fairly  changing  places  with  the  Jew. 

From  this  curious  contest  of  wits  the  vine-grower  did  not 
emerge  triumphant ;  indeed,  for  the  first  and  last  time  in  his 


112  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

business  career  he  made  a  bad  bargain.  But  loser  though  he 
was  from  a  money  point  of  view,  he  had  received  a  great  prac- 
tical lesson,  and  later  on  he  reaped  the  fruits  of  it.  Where- 
fore in  the  end  he  blessed  the  Jew  who  had  shown  him  how 
to  wear  out  the  patience  of  an  opponent,  and  to  keep  him  so 
closely  employed  in  expressing  his  adversary's  ideas  that  he 
completely  lost  sight  of  his  own.  The  present  business  re- 
quired more  deafness,  more  stammering,  more  of  the  mazy  cir- 
cumlocutions in  which  Grandet  was  wont  to  involve  himself, 
than  any  previous  transaction  in  his  life ;  for,  in  the  first  place, 
he  wished  to  throw  the  responsibility  of  his  ideas  on  some  one 
else ;  some  one  else  was  to  suggest  his  own  schemes  to  him, 
while  he  was  to  keep  himself  to  himself,  and  leave  every  one 
in  the  dark  as  to  his  real  intentions. 

"  Mon-sieur  de  B-B-Bonfons."  (This  was  the  second  time 
in  three  years  that  he  had  called  the  younger  Cruchot  "  M.  de 
Bonfons,"  and  the  president  might  well  consider  that  this  was 
almost  tantamount  to  being  acknowledged  as  the  crafty  cooper's 
son-in-law.) 

"You  were  s-s-s-saying  that  in  certain  cases,  p-p-p-pro- 
ceedings  in  b-b-bankruptcy  might  be  s-s-s-stopped  b-b-by " 

"At  the  instance  of  a  Tribunal  of  Commerce.  That  is 
done  everyday  of  the  year,"  said  M.  C.  de  Bonfons,  guessing, 
as  he  thought,  at  old  Grandet's  idea,  and  running  away  with 
it.  "Listen!"  he  said,  and  in  the  most  amiable  way  he 
prepared  to  explain  himself. 

"  I  am  1-listening,"  replied  the  older  man  meekly,  and  his 
face  assumed  a  demure  expression ;  he  looked  like  some 
small  boy  who  is  laughing  in  his  sleeve  at  the  schoolmaster 
while  appearing  to  pay  the  most  respectful  attention  to  every 
word. 

"When  anybody  who  is  in  a  large  way  of  business  and  is 
much  looked  up  to,  like  your  late  brother  in  Paris,  for 
instance " 

"  My  b-b-brother,  yes." 


EUGENIE    GRAND ET.  113 

"  When  any  one  in  that  position  is  likely  to  find  himself 
insolvent " 

"  Ins-s-solvent,  do  they  call  it  ?  " 

"Yes.  When  his  failure  is  imminent,  the  Tribunal  of 
Commerce,  to  which  he  is  amenable  (do  you  follow  me  ?)  has 
jjower  by  a  judgment  to  appoint  liquidators  to  wind  up  the 
business.  Liquidation  is  not  bankruptcy,  do  you  under- 
stand ?  It  is  a  disgraceful  thing  to  be  a  bankrupt,  but  a 
liquidation  reflects  no  discredit  on  a  man," 

"It  is  quite  a  d-d-d-different  thing,  if  only  it  d-d-does  not 
cost  any  more,"  said  Grandet. 

"  Yes.  But  a  liquidation  can  be  privately  arranged  without 
having  recourse  to  the  Tribunal  of  Commerce,"  said  the  presi- 
dent as  he  took  a  pinch  of  snuff.  "  How  is  a  man  declared 
bankrupt !  " 

"Yes,  how?"  inquired  Grandet.  "I  have  n-n-never 
thought  about  it." 

"  In  the  first  place,  he  may  himself  file  a  petition  and  leave 
his  schedule  with  the  clerk  of  the  court,  the  debtor  himself 
draws  it  up  or  authorizes  some  one  else  to  do  so,  and  it  is 
duly  registered.  Or,  in  the  second  place,  his  creditors  may 
make  him  a  bankrupt.  But  supposing  the  debtor  does  not 
file  a  petition,  and  none  of  his  creditors  make  application  to 
the  court  for  a  judgment  declaring  him  bankrupt ;  now  let  us 
see  what  happens  then  !  " 

"Yes,  let  us  s-s-see." 

"  In  that  case,  the  family  of  the  deceased,  or  his  represen- 
tatives, or  his  residuary  legatee,  or  the  man  himself  (if  he  is 
not  dead),  or  his  friends  for  him  (if  he  has  absconded),  liqui- 
date his  affairs.  Now,  possibly,  you  may  intend  to  do  this  in 
your  brother's  case?  "  inquired  the  president. 

"Oh!  Grandet,"  exclaimed  the  notary,  "  that  would  be 
acting  very  handsomely.  We  in  the  provinces  have  our 
notions  of  honor.     If  you  saved  your   name  from  dishonor, 

for  it  is  your  name,  you  would  be " 

8 


114  EUG&NIE   GRANDET. 

"Sublime!  "  cried  the  president,  interrupting  his  uncle. 

"  Of  course,  my  b-b-brother*s  n-n-name  was  Grandet, 
th-that  is  certain  sure,  I  d-d-don' t  deny  it,  and  anyhow  this 
l-l-l-l-liquidation  would  be  a  very  g-good  thing  for  my  n-n- 
nephew  in  every  way,  and  I  am  very  f-f-fond  of  him.  But  we 
shall  see.  I  know  n-n-nothing  of  those  sharpers  in  Paris,  and 
their  t-tricks.  And  here  am  I  at  S-Saumur,  you  see  !  There 
are  my  vine-cuttings,  m-my  d-d-draining;  in  sh-sh-short, 
there  are  my  own  af-f-fairs,  to  s-s-see  after.  /  have  n-n-never 
accepted  a  bill.  What  is  a  bill  ?  I  have  t-t-taken  many  a  one, 
b-b-but  I  have  n-n-never  put  my  n-n-name  to  a  piece  of 
p-paper.  You  t-t-take  'em  and  you  can  d-d-d-discount  'em, 
and  that  is  all  I  know.  I  have  heard  s-s-say  that  you  can 
b-b-b-buy  them " 

"Yes,"  assented  the  president.  "You  can  buy  bills  on 
the  market,  less  so  much  per  cent.     Do  you  understand?  " 

Grandet  held  his  hand  to  his  ear,  and  the  president  repeated 
his  remark. 

"But  it  s-s-seems  there  are  t-t-two  s-sides  to  all  this?"  re- 
plied the  vine-grower.  "At  my  age,  I  know  n-n-nothing  about 
this  s-s-sort  of  thing.  I  must  st-top  here  to  1-look  after  the 
g-g-grapes,  the  vines  d-d-don' t  stand  still,  and  the  g-g-grapes 
have  to  p-pay  for  everything.  The  vintage  m-must  be  1-1- 
looked  after  before  anything  else.  Then  I  have  a  g-great 
d-d-deal  on  my  hands  at  Froidfond  that  I  can't  p-p-possibly 
1-1-1-leave  to  any  one  else.  I  don't  underst-t-tand  a  word  of  all 
this;  it  is  a  p-p-pretty  kettle  of  fish,  confound  it;  I  can't 
1-1-leave  home  to  s-see  after  it.  You  s-s-s-say  that  to  bring  about 
a  1-1-liquidation  I  ought  to  be  in  Paris.  Now  you  can't  be  in 
t-t-two  p-places  at  once  unless  you  are  a  b-b-bird." 

"/see  what  you  mean,"  cried  the  notary.  "Well,  my  old 
friend,  you  have  friends,  friends  of  long  standing  ready  to  do 
a  great  deal  for  you." 

"Come,  now  !  "  said  the  vine-grower  to  himself,  "so  you 
are  making  up  your  minds,  are  you?  " 


EUG&NIE   GRANDET.  116 

*'  And  if  some  one  were  to  go  to  Paris,  and  find  up  your 
brother  Guillaume's  largest  creditor,  and  say  to  him " 

"  Here,  just  1-1-listen  to  me  a  moment,"  the  cooper  struck 

in.     "Say  to  him what?     S-s-something  like   this:   *  M. 

Grandet  of  Saumur  th-this,  M.  Grandet  of  Saumur  th-th-that. 
He  1-1-loves  his  brother,  he  has  a  r-r-regard  for  his  n-nephew; 
Grandet  thinks  a  1-1-lot  of  his  f-faraily,  he  means  to  d-do  well 
by  them.  He  has  just  s-s-sold  his  vintage  uncommonly  well. 
Don't  drive  the  thing  into  b-b-b-bankruptcy,  call  a  meeting  of 
the  creditors,  and  ap-p-point  1-1-liquidators.  Then  s-see  what 
Grandet  will  do.  You  will  do  a  great  d-deal  b-b-better  for 
yourselves  by  coming  to  an  arrangement  than  by  1-1-letting 
the  1-1-lawyers  poke  their  noses  into  it.'  That  is  how  it  is, 
eh?" 

"  Quite  so  !  "  said  the  president. 

"Because,  look  you  here,  Monsieur  de  Bon-Bon-Bonfons, 
you  must  1-1-look  before  you  1-1-1-leap.  And  you  can't  d-do 
more  than  you  can.  A  big  af-f-fair  like  this  wants  1-1-looking 
into,  or  you  may  ru-ru-ruin  yourself.  That  is  so,  isn't  it,  eh?" 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  president,  "  I  myself  am  of  the  opin- 
ion that  in  a  few  months'  time  you  could  buy  up  the  debts  for 
a  fixed  sum  and  pay  by  installments.  Aha!  you  can  trail  a 
dog  a  long  way  with  a  bit  of  bacon.  When  a  man  has  not 
been  declared  bankrupt,  as  soon  as  the  bills  are  in  your  hands, 
you  will  be  as  white  as  snow." 

"As  s-s-s-snow?"  said  Grandet,  holding  his  hand  to  his 
ear.     "S-s-s-snow.     I  don't  underst-t-tand." 

"  Why,  then,  just  listen  to  me  !  "  cried  the  president. 

"  I  am  1-1-listening " 

"  A  bill  of  exchange  is  a  commodity  subject  to  fluctuations 
in  value.  This  is  a  deduction  from  Jeremy  Bentham's  theory 
of  interest.  He  was  a  publicist  who  showed  conclusively  that 
the  prejudices  entertained  against  money-lenders  were  irra- 
tional." 

"  Bless  me  1 "  put  in  Grandet. 


116  EUG&NIE   GRANDET. 

"And  seeing  that,  according  to  Bentham,  money  itself  is  a 
commodity,  and  that  which  money  represents  is  no  less  a 
commodity,"  the  president  went  on;  "and  since  it  is  ob- 
vious that  the  commodity  called  a  bill  of  exchange  is  subject 
to  the  same  laws  of  supply  and  demand  that  control  produc- 
tion of  all  kinds,  a  bill  of  exchange  bearing  this  or  that 
signature,  like  this  or  that  article  of  commerce,  is  scarce  or 
plentiful  in  the  market,  commands  a  high  premium  or  is  worth 

nothing   at   all.      Wherefore  the  decision  of  this  court 

There !  how  stupid  I  am,  I  beg  your  pardon ;  I  mean  I  am 
of  the  opinion  that  you  could  easily  buy  up  your  brother's 
debts  for  twenty-five  per  cent  of  their  value." 

"You  m-m-m-mentioned  Je-je-je-jeremy  Ben " 

"Bentham,  an  Englishman," 

"That  is  a  Jeremiah  who  will  save  us  many  lamentations  in 
business  matters,"  said  the  notary,  laughing. 

"The  English  s-s-sometimes  have  s-s-s-sensible  notions," 
said  Grandet.  "Then,  according  to  B-Bentham,  how  if  my 
b-b-brother's  b-bills  are  worth  n-n-n-nothing?     If  I  am  right, 

it   looks  to  me  as  if the  creditors  would n-no,  they 

wouldn't 1  underst-t-tand." 

"  Let  me  explain  all  this  to  you,"  said  the  president.  "  In 
law,  if  you  hold  all  the  outstanding  bills  of  the  firm  of 
Grandet,  your  brother,  his  heirs  and  assigns,  would  owe  no 
one  a  penny.     So  far,  so  good." 

"  Good,"  echoed  Grandet. 

"  And  in  equity ;  suppose  that  your  brother's  bills  were 
negotiated  upon  the  market  (negotiated,  do  you  understand 
the  meaning  of  that  term?)  at  a  loss  of  so  much  per  cent.; 
and  suppose  one  of  your  friends  happened  to  be  passing,  and 
bought  up  the  bills ;  there  would  have  been  no  physical  force 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  creditors,  they  gave  them  up  of  their 
own  free-will,  and  the  estate  of  the  late  Grandet  of  Paris 
would  be  clear  in  the  eye  of  the  law." 

"True,"  stuttered  the  cooper,  "  b-b-business  is  business. 


EUGENIE    GRANDET.  117 

So  that  is  s-s-s-settled.  But,  for  all  that,  you  understand  that 
it  is  a  d-d-difficult  matter.  I  have  not  the  m-m-money,  nor 
have  I  the  t-t-t-time,  nor " 

"Yes,  yes;  you  cannot  be  at  the  trouble.  Well,  now,  I 
will  go  to  Paris  for  you  if  you  like  (you  must  stand  the  ex- 
penses of  the  journey,  that  is  a  mere  trifle).  I  will  see  the 
creditors,  and  talk  to  them,  and  put  them  ofTj  it  can  all  be 
arranged ;  you  will  be  prepared  to  add  something  to  the 
amount  realized  by  the  liquidation  so  as  to  get  the  bills  into 
your  hands." 

"We  shall  s-see  about  that;  I  cannot  and  will  not  under- 

t-t-take  anything  unless  I  know You  can't  d-d-do  more 

than  you  can,  you  know." 

"  Quite  so,  quite  so." 

"  And  I  am  quite  bewildered  with  all  these  head-splitting 
ideas  that  you  have  sp-prung  upon  me.  Th-this  is  the  f-f-f-first 
t-time  in  my  1-1-life  that  I  have  had  to  th-th-think  about 
such  th " 

"Yes,  yes,  you  are  not  a  consulting  barrister." 

"  I  am  a  p-p-poor  vine-grower,  and  I  know  n-n-nothing 
about  what  you  have  just  t-t-t-told  me ;  I  m-m-must  th-think  it 
all  out." 

"Well!  then,"  began  the  president,  as  if  he  meant  to 
reopen  the  discussion. 

"  Nephew  !  "  interrupted  the  notary  reproachfully. 

"Well,  uncle?"  answered  the  president. 

"  Let  M.  Grandet  explain  what  he  means  to  do.  It  is  a 
very  important  question,  and  you  are  to  receive  his  instructions. 
Our  dear  friend  might  now  very  pertinently  state " 

A  knock  at  the  door  announced  the  arrival  of  the  des  Gras- 
sins ;  their  coming  and  exchange  of  greetings  prevented 
Cruchot  senior  from  finishing  his  sentence.  Nor  was  he 
ill-pleased  with  this  diversion  ;  Grandet  was  looking  askance 
at  him  already,  and  there  was  that  about  the  wen  on  the 
cooper's   face   which   indicated   that   a  storm   was   brewing 


118  EUGENIE    GRANDET. 

within.  And  on  sober  reflection  it  seemed  to  the  cautious 
notary  that  a  president  of  a  court  of  first  instance  was  not 
exactly  the  person  to  dispatch  to  Paris,  there  to  open  negotia- 
tions with  creditors,  and  to  lend  himself  to  a  more  than 
dubious  transaction  which,  however  you  looked  at  it,  hardly 
squared  with  notions  of  strict  honesty ;  and  not  only  so,  but 
he  had  particularly  noticed  that  M.  Grandet  had  shown  not 
the  slightest  inclination  to  disburse  anything  whatever,  and 
he  trembled  instinctively  at  the  thought  of  his  nephew  becom- 
ing involved  in  such  a  business.  He  took  advantage  of  the 
entrance  of  the  des  Grassins,  took  his  nephew  by  the  arm, 
and  drew  him  into  the  embrasure  of  the  window. 

"You  have  gone  quite  as  far  as  there  is  any  need,"  he  said, 
**  that  is  quite  enough  of  such  zeal ;  you  are  overreaching 
yourself  in  your  eagerness  to  marry  the  girl.  The  devil! 
You  should  not  rush  into  a  thing  open-mouthed,  like  a  crow  at 
a  walnut.  Leave  the  steering  of  the  ship  to  me  for  a  bit,  and 
just  shift  your  sails  according  to  the  wind.  Now,  is  it  a  part 
you  ought  to  play,  compromising  your  dignity  as  magistrate  in 

such  a " 

He  broke  off  suddenly,  for  he  heard  M.  des  Grassins  saying 
to  the  old  cooper,  as  he  held  out  his  hand — 

**  Grandet,  we  have  heard  of  the  dreadful  misfortunes 
which  have  befallen  your  family — the  ruin  of  the  firm  of 
Guillaume  Grandet  and  your  brother's  death  ;  we  have  come 
to  express  our  sympathy  and  to  offer  you  our  consolation  in 
this  sad  calamity." 

"  There  is  only  one  misfortune,"  the  notary  interrupted  at 
this  point,  "the  death  of  the  younger  M.  Grandet;  and  if 
he  had  thought  to  ask  his  brother  for  assistance,  he  would  not 
have  taken  his  own  life.  Our  old  friend  here,  who  is  a  man 
of  honor  to  his  finger-tips,  is  prepared  to  discharge  the  debts 
contracted  by  the  firm  of  Grandet  in  Paris.  In  order  to  spare 
our  friend  the  worry  of  what  is,  after  all,  a  piece  of  lawyer's 
business,  my  nephew  the  president  offers  to  start  immediately 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  119 

for  Paris,  so  as  to  arrange  with  the  creditors,  and  duly  satisfy 
their  claims." 

The  three  des  Grassins  were  thoroughly  taken  aback  by 
these  words ;  Grandet  appeared  to  acquiesce  in  what  had  been 
said,  for  he  was  pensively  stroking  his  chin.  On  their  way 
to  the  house  the  family  had  commented  very  freely  upon 
Grandet's  niggardliness,  and  indeed  had  almost  gone  so  far  as 
to  accuse  him  of  fratricide. 

"  Ah  1  just  what  I  expected!"  cried  the  banker,  looking 
at  his  wife.  "  What  was  I  saying  to  you  only  just  now  as  we 
came  along,  Mme.  des  Grassins  ?  Grandet,  I  said,  is  a  man 
who  will  never  swerve  a  hair's-breadth  from  the  strict  course 
of  honor;  he  will  not  endure  the  thought  of  the  slightest 
spot  on  his  name  !  Money  without  honor  is  a  disease.  Oh  ! 
we  have  a  keen  sense  of  honor  in  the  provinces !  This  is 
noble — really  noble  of  you,  Grandet.  I  am  an  old  soldier, 
and  I  do  not  mince  matters,  I  say  what  I  think  straight  out ; 
and  7nine  tonnerres  !  this  is  sublime  ! ' ' 

"Then  the  s-s-sub-sublime  costs  a  great  d-d-deal,"  stuttered 
the  cooper,  as  the  banker  shook  him  warmly  by  the  hand. 

"  But  this,  my  good  Grandet  (no  offense  to  you,  M.  le 
President),  is  simply  a  matter  of  business,"  des  Grassins  went 
on,  "  and  requires  an  experienced  man  of  business  to  deal 
with  it.  There  will  have  to  be  accounts  kept  of  sales  and 
outgoing  expenses ;  you  ought  to  have  tables  of  interest  at 
your  finger-ends.  I  must  go  to  Paris  on  business  of  my  own, 
and  I  could  undertake " 

"  Then  we  must  s-s-see  about  it,  and  t-t-t-try  to  arrange 
between  us  to  p-p-provide  for  anything  that  m-may  t-t-turn 
up,  but  I  d-d-don't  want  to  be  d-d-drawn  into  anything  that  I 
would  rather  not  d-d-d-do,"  continued  Grandet,  "because, 
you  see,  M.  le  President  naturally  wants  me  to  pay  his 
expenses."  The  good  man  did  not  stammer  over  these 
last  words. 

"  Eh  ?  "  said  Mme.  des  Grassins.     "  Why,  it  is  a  pleasure 


120  EUGENIE   GRAND LT. 

to  stay  in  Paris  !     For  my  part,  I  should  be  glad  to  go  there 
at  my  own  expense." 

She  made  a  sign  to  her  husband,  urging  him  to  seize  this 
opportunity  of  discomfiting  their  enemies  and  cheat  them  of 
their  mission.  Then  she  flung  a  withering  glance  at  the  now 
crestfallen  and  miserable  Cruchots.  Grandet  seized  the  banker 
by  the  button-hole  and  drew  him  aside. 

"I  should  feel  far  more  confidence  in  you  than  in  the 
president,"  he  remarked;  ''and  besides  that,"  he  added 
(and  the  wen  twitched  a  little),  "there  are  other  fish  to  fry. 
I  want  to  make  an  investment.  I  have  several  thousand  francs 
to  put  into  consols,  and  I  don't  mean  to  pay  more  than  eighty 
for  them.  Now,  from  all  I  can  hear,  that  machine  always 
runs  down  at  the  end  of  the  month.  You  know  all  about 
these  things,  I  expect?" 

''Pardieu!  I  should  think  I  did.  Well,  then,  I  shall 
have  to  buy  several  thousand  livres  worth  of  consols  for 
you." 

"  Just  by  way  of  a  beginning.  But  mum,  I  want  to  play  at 
this  game  without  letting  any  one  know  about  it.  You  will  buy 
them  for  me  at  the  end  of  the  month,  and  say  nothing  to  the 
Cruchots ;  it  would  only  annoy  them.  Since  you  are  going 
to  Paris,  we  might  as  well  see  at  the  same  time  what  trumps 
are  for  my  poor  nephew's  sake." 

"  That  is  an  understood  thing.  I  shall  travel  post  to  Paris 
to-morrow,"  said  des  Grassins  aloud,  "and  I  will  come 
round  to  take  your  final  instructions  at — when  shall  we  say?" 

"At  five  o'clock,  before  dinner,"  said  the  vine-grower, 
rubbing  his  hands. 

The  two  factions  for  a  little  while  remained  facing  each 
other.  Des  Grassins  broke  the  silence  again,  clapping  Grandet 
on  the  shoulder,  and  saying — 

**  It  is  a  fine  thing  to  have  a  good  uncle  like " 

"Yes,  yes,"  returned  Grandet,  falling  into  the  stammer 
again,  "  without  m-making  any  p-p-parade  about  it ;  I  am  a 


EUG&NIE   GRANDET.  121 

good  uncle ;  I  1-1-loved  my  brother ;  I  will  give  p-p-p-proof 
of  it,  if-if-if  it  d-doesn't  cost " 

Luckily  the  banker  interrupted  him  at  this  point. 

*'  We  must  go,  Grandet.  If  I  am  to  set  out  sooner  than 
I  intended,  I  shall  have  to  see  after  some  business  at  once 
before  I  go." 

"Right,  quite  right,  I  myself,  in  connection  with  you 
know  what,  must  p-p-put  on  my  cons-s-sidering  cap,  as  P- 
President  Cruchot  s-s-says." 

"  Plague  take  it  !  I  am  no  longer  M.  de  Bonfons,"  thought 
the  magistrate  moodily,  and  his  face  fell  \  he  looked  like  a 
judge  who  is  bored  by  the  cause  before  him. 

The  heads  of  the  rival  clans  went  out  together.  Both  had 
completely  forgotten  Grandet' s  treacherous  crime  of  that 
morning ;  his  disloyal  behavior  had  faded  from  their  minds. 
They  sounded  each  other,  but  to  no  purpose,  as  to  Grandet's 
real  intentions  (if  intentions  he  had)  in  this  new  turn  that 
■  matters  had  taken. 

"Are  you  coming  with  us  to  Mme.  Dorsonval's?"  des 
Grassins  asked  the  notary. 

"We  are  going  there  later  on,"  replied  the  president. 
"  With  my  uncle's  permission,  we  will  go  first  to  see  Mile,  de 
Gribeaucourt ;  I  promised  just  to  look  in  on  her  to  say  good- 
night." 

"  We  shall  meet  again,  then,"  smiled  Mme.  des  Grassins. 

But  when  the  des  Grassins  were  at  some  distance  from  the 
two  Cruchots,  Adolphe  said  to  his  father,  "They  are  in  a 
pretty  stew,  eh?  " 

"  Hush  !  "  returned  his  mother,  "  they  can  very  likely  hear 
what  we  are  saying,  and,  besides,  that  remark  of  yours  was  not 
in  good  taste;  it  sounds  like  one  of  your  law  school  phrases." 

"  Well,  uncle  !  "  cried  the  magistrate,  when  he  saw  the  des 
Grassins  were  out  of  earshot,  "  I  began  by  being  President  de 
Bonfons  and  ended  as  plain  Cruchot." 


122  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

"I  saw  myself  that  you  were  rather  put  out  about  it;  and 
the  des  Grassins  took  the  wind  out  of  our  sails.  How  stupid 
you  are,  for  all  your  sharpness  !  Let  theyn  set  sail,  on  the 
strength  of  a  *  We  shall  see  '  from  Grandet ;  be  easy,  my  boy, 
Eugenie  shall  marry  you  for  all  that." 

A  few  moments  later  and  the  news  of  Grandet' s  magna- 
nimity was  set  circulating  in  three  houses  at  once  ;  the  whole 
town  talked  of  nothing  but  Grandet' s  devotion  to  his  brother. 
The  sale  of  his  vintage  in  utter  disregard  of  the  agreement 
made  among  the  vine-growers  was  forgotten ;  every  one  fell 
to  praising  his  scrupulous  integrity  and  to  lauding  his  gen- 
erosity, a  quality  which  no  one  had  suspected  him  of  possess- 
ing. There  is  that  in  the  French  character  which  is  readily 
excited  to  fury  or  to  passionate  enthusiasm  by  any  meteor  that 
appears  above  their  horizon,  that  is  captivated  by  the  bravery 
of  a  blatant  fact.  Can  it  be  that  collectively  men  have  no 
memories  ? 

As  soon  as  Grandet  had  bolted  the  house-door  he  called  to 
Nanon : 

"Don't  go  to  bed,"  he  said,  "and  don't  unchain  the  dog; 
there  is  something  to  be  done,  and  we  must  do  it  together. 
Cornoiller  will  be  round  with  the  carriage  from  Froidfond  at 
eleven  o'clock.  You  must  sit  up  for  him,  and  let  him  in 
quietly ;  don't  let  him  rap  at  the  door,  and  tell  him  not  to 
make  a  noise.  You  get  into  trouble  with  the  police  if  you  raise 
a  racket  at  night.  And,  besides,  there  is  no  need  to  let  all 
the  quarter  know  that  I  am  going  out." 

Having  thus  delivered  himself,  Grandet  went  up  to  his  labo- 
ratory, and  Nanon  heard  him  stirring  about,  rummaging,  go- 
ing and  coming,  all  with  great  caution.  Clearly  he  had  no 
wish  to  waken  his  wife  or  daughter,  and  above  all  things  he 
desired  in  nowise  to  excite  any  suspicion  in  the  mind  of  his 
nephew ;  he  had  seen  that  a  light  was  burning  in  the  young 
man's  room,  and  had  cursed  his  relative  forthwith. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  Eugenie  heard  a  sound  like  the 


EUGENIE   GRAND ET.  123 

groan  of  a  dying  man ;  her  cousin  was  always  in  her  thoughts, 
and  for  her  the  dying  man  was  Charles.  How  white  and  de- 
spairing he  had  looked  when  he  wished  her  good-night ;  per- 
haps he  had  killed  himself.  She  hastily  wrapped  herself  in  her 
capuchine,  a  sort  of  long  cloak  with  a  hood  to  it,  and  deter- 
mined to  go  to  see  for  herself.  Some  rays  of  bright  light 
streaming  through  the  cracks  of  her  door  frightened  her  not  a 
little  at  first,  perhaps  the  house  was  on  fire;  but  she  was  soon 
reassured.  Slie  could  hear  Nanon's  heavy  footsteps  outside, 
and  the  sounds  of  the  old  servant's  voice  mingled  with  the 
neighing  of  several  horses. 

*'  Can  my  father  be  taking  Charles  away?"  she  asked  her- 
self, as  she  set  her  door  ajar,  cautiously  for  fear  the  hinges 
should  creak,  so  that  she  could  watch  all  that  was  going  on  in 
the  corridor. 

All  at  once  her  eyes  met  those  of  her  father,  and,  absent 
and  indifferent  as  they  looked,  a  cold  shudder  ran  through 
her.  The  cooper  and  Nanon  were  coming  along  carrying 
something  which  hung  by  a  chain  from  a  stout  cudgel,  one 
end  of  which  rested  on  the  right  shoulder  of  either ;  the  some- 
thing was  a  little  barrel  such  as  Grandet  sometimes  amused 
himself  by  making  in  the  bakehouse,  when  he  had  nothing 
better  to  do. 

"Holy  Virgin!  how  heavy  it  is,  sir!"  said  Nanon  in  a 
whisper. 

"  What  a  pity  it  is  only  full  of  pence  !  "  replied  the  cooper. 
"Lookout !  or  you  will  knock  down  the  candlestick." 

The  scene  was  lighted  by  a  single  candle  set  between  two 
balusters. 

**  Cornoiller,"  said  Grandet  to  his  gamekeeper  in pariidus, 
*'  have  you  your  pistols  with  you?  " 

"  No,  sir.  Lord,  love  you  !  What  can  there  be  to  fear  for 
a  keg  of  coppers?" 

"Oh  I  nothing,  nothing,"  said  M.  Grandet. 

*'  Besides,  we  shall  get  over  the  ground  quickly,"  the  keeper 


124  EUGENIE   GRAND ET. 

went  on ;  **  your  tenants  have  picked  out  their  best  horses  for 
you." 

**  Well,  well.  You  did  not  let  them  know  where  I  was 
going?" 

"I  did  not  know  that  myself." 

*'  Right.     Is  the  carriage  strongly  built  ?  " 

"That's  all  right,  master.  Why,  what  is  the  weight  of  a 
few  paltry  barrels  like  those  of  yours  ?  It  would  carry  two  or 
three  thousand  like  them." 

"  Well,"  said  Nanon,  "  I  know  there's  pretty  nigh  eighteen 
hundredweight  there,  that  there  is  !  " 

"  Will  you  hold  you  tongue,  Nanon  !  You  tell  my  wife 
that  I  have  gone  into  the  country,  and  that  I  shall  be  back  to 
dinner.  Hurry  up,  Cornoiller  ;  we  must  be  in  Angers  before 
nine  o'clock." 

The  carriage  started.  Nanon  bolted  the  gateway,  let  the 
dog  loose,  and  lay  down  and  slept  in  spite  of  her  bruised 
shoulder ;  and  no  one  in  the  quarter  had  any  suspicion  of 
Grandet's  journey  or  of  its  object.  The  worthy  man  was  a 
miracle  of  circumspection.  Nobody  ever  saw  a  penny  lying 
about  in  that  house  full  of  gold.  He  had  learned  that  morn- 
ing from  the  gossip  on  the  quay  that  some  vessels  were  being 
fitted  out  at  Nantes,  and  that  in  consequence  gold  was  so 
scarce  there  that  it  was  worth  double  its  ordinary  value,  and 
speculators  were  buying  it  in  Angers.  The  old  cooper,  by  the 
simple  device  of  borrowing  his  tenants'  horses,  was  prepared 
to  sell  his  gold  at  Angers,  receiving  in  return  an  order  upon 
the  Treasury  from  the  Receiver-General  for  the  sum  destined 
for  the  purchase  of  his  consols,  and  an  addition  in  the  shape 
of  the  premium  paid  on  his  gold. 

**  My  father  is  going  out,"  said  Eugenie  to  herself.  She 
had  heard  all  that  had  passed  from  the  head  of  the  staircase. 

Silence  reigned  once  more  in  the  house.  The  rattle  of  the 
wheels  in  the  streets  of  sleeping  Saumur  grew  more  and  more 
distant,  and  at  last  died  away.     Then  it  was  that  a  sound 


The  door    stood    ajar.-   she  thrust   it  open. 


EUGENIE    GRANDET.  125 

seemed  to  reach  Eugenie's  heart  before  it  fell  on  her  ears,  a 
wailing  sound  that  rang  through  the  thin  walls  above — it  came 
from  her  cousin's  room.  There  was  a  thin  line  of  light, 
scarcely  wider  than  a  knife  edge,  beneath  his  door;  the  rays 
slanted  through  the  darkness  and  left  a  bright  gleaming  bar 
along  the  balusters  of  the  crazy  staircase. 

"He  is  unhappy,"  she  said,  as  she  went  up  a  little  farther. 

A  second  moan  brought  her  to  the  landing  above.  The 
door  stood  ajar  ;  she  thrust  it  open.  Charles  was  sleeping  in 
the  rickety  old  armchair,  his  head  drooped  over  to  one  side, 
his  hand  hung  down  and  nearly  touched  the  floor,  the  pen  that 
he  had  let  fall  lay  beneath  his  fingers.  Lying  in  this  position, 
his  breath  came  in  quick,  sharp  jerks  that  startled  Eugenie. 
She  entered  hastily. 

"  He  must  be  very  tired,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  saw  a 
dozen  sealed  letters  lying  on  the  table.  She  read  the  addresses 
— MM.  Farry,  Breilman  and  Co.,  carriage  builders;  M. 
Buisson,  tailor ;  and  so  forth. 

"  Of  course,  he  has  been  settling  his  affairs,  so  that  he  may 
leave  France  as  soon  as  possible,"  she  thought. 

Her  eyes  fell  upon    two  unsealed  letters.     One  of   them 

began — "  My  dear  Annette  " She  felt  dazed,  and  could 

see  nothing  for  a  moment.  Her  heart  beat  fast,  her  feet  seemed 
glued  to  the  floor. 

"  His  dear  Annette  !    He  loves,  he  is  beloved  ! Then 

there  is   no   more  hope! What  does  he  say  to  her?" 

These  thoughts  flashed  through  her  heart  and  brain.  She 
read  the  words  everywhere :  on  the  walls,  on  the  very  floor, 
in  letters  of  fire. 

"Must  I  give  him  up  already?     No,  I  will  not  read  the 

letter.      I    ought  not  to    stay And    yet,   even  if  I  did 

read  it?" 

She  looked  at  Charles,  gently  took  his  head  in  her  hands, 
and  propped  it  against  the  back  of  the  chair.  He  submitted 
like  a   child,  who  even  while  he  is    sleeping  knows  that  it 


126  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

is  his  mother  who  is  bending  over  him,  and,  without  waking, 
feels  his  mother's  kisses.  Like  a  mother,  Eugenie  raised  the 
drooping  hand,  and,  like  a  mother,  laid  a  soft  kiss  on  his 
hair.  '^ Dear  Annette!''  A  mocking  voice  shrieked  the 
words  in  her  ear. 

"I  know  that  perhaps  I  may  be  doing  wrong,  but  I  will 
read  that  letter,"  she  said. 

Eugenie  turned  her  eyes  away ;  her  high  sense  of  honor 
reproached  her.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  there  was  a 
struggle  between  good  and  evil  in  her  soul.  Hitherto  she 
had  never  done  anything  for  which  she  needed  to  blush. 
Love  and  curiosity  silenced  her  scruples.  Her  heart  swelled 
higher  with  every  phrase  as  she  read ;  her  quickened  pulses 
seemed  to  send  a  sharp,  tingling  glow  through  her  veins,  and 
to  heighten  the  vivid  emotions  of  her  first  love. 

"My  dear  Annette:  —  Nothing  should  have  power 
to  separate  us  save  this  overwhelming  calamity  that  has  be- 
fallen me,  a  calamity  that  no  human  foresight  could  have 
predicted.  My  father  has  died  by  his  own  hand ;  his  for- 
tune and  mine  are  both  irretrievably  lost.  I  am  left  an 
orphan  at  an  age  when,  with  the  kind  of  education  I 
have  received,  I  am  almost  a  child  ;  and,  nevertheless,  I 
must  now  endeavor  to  show  myself  a  man,  and  to  rise 
from  the  dark  depths  into  which  I  have  been  hurled.  I 
have  been  spending  part  of  my  time  to-night  in  revolving 
plans  for  my  future.  If  I  am  to  leave  France  as  an  honest 
man,  as  of  course  I  mean  to  do,  I  have  not  a  hundred 
francs  that  I  can  call  my  own  with  which  to  tempt  fate  in 
the  Indies  or  in  America.  Yes,  my  poor  Anna,  I  am  going 
in  quest  of  fortune  to  the  most  deadly  foreign  climes.  Be- 
neath such  skies,  they  say,  fortunes  are  rapidly  and  surely 
made.  As  for  living  on  in  Paris,  I  could  not  bring  myself 
to  do  it.  I  could  not  face  the  coldness,  the  contempt,  and 
the  affronts  that  a  ruined  man,  the  son  of  a  bankrupt,  is  sure 


EUG&NIE   CRANDET.                              127 
to   receive.      Great   heaven  !     to    owe    two    millions  ! 


I  should  fall  in  a  duel  before  a  week  had  passed.  So  I 
shall  not  return  to  Paris.  Your  love — the  tenderest,  the 
most  devoted  love  that  ever  ennobled  the  heart  of  man — 
would  not  seek  to  draw  me  back.  Alas !  my  darling,  I 
have  not  money  enough  to  take  me  to  you,  that  I  might  give 
and  receive  one  last  kiss,  a  kiss  that  should  put  strength  into 
me  for  the  task  that  lies  before  me " 

**  Poor  Charles,  I  did  well  to  read  this.  I  have  money, 
and  he  shall  have  it,"  said  Eugenie.  She  went  on  with  the 
letter  when  her  tears  permitted  her  to  see. 

**  I  have  not  even  begun  to  think  of  the  hardships  of  pov- 
erty. Supposing  that  I  find  I  have  the  hundred  louis  to  pay 
for  my  passage  out,  I  have  not  a  sou  to  lay  out  on  a  trading 
venture.  Yet,  no  ;  I  shall  not  have  a  hundred  louis,  nor  yet 
a  hundred  sous ;  I  have  no  idea  whether  anything  will  be  left 
when  I  have  settled  all  my  debts  in  Paris.  If  there  is  nothing, 
I  shall  simply  go  to  Nantes  and  work  my  passage  out.  I  will 
begin  at  the  bottom  of  the  ladder,  like  many  another  man  of 
energy  who  has  gone  out  to  the  Indies  as  a  penniless  youth, 
to  return  thence  a  rich  man.  This  morning  I  began  to  look 
my  future  steadily  in  the  face.  It  is  far  harder  for  me  than 
for  others ;  I  have  been  the  petted  child  of  a  mother  who 
idolized  me,  indulged  by  the  best  and  kindest  of  fathers;  and 
at  my  very  entrance  into  the  world  I  met  with  the  love  of  an 
Anna.  As  yet  I  have  only  known  the  primrose  paths  of  life ; 
such  happiness  could  not  last.  Yet,  dear  Annette,  I  have 
more  fortitude  than  could  be  looked  for  from  a  thoughtless 
youth ;  above  all,  from  a  young  man  thus  lapped  round  in 
happiness  from  the  cradle,  spoiled  and  flattered  by  the  most 
delightful  woman  in   Paris,   the   darling   of  fortune,   whose 

wishes  were  as  law  to  a  father  who Oh  !  my  father !    He 

is  dead,  Annette !     Well,  I  have  thought  seriously  over  my 


128  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

position,  and  I  have  likewise  thought  over  yours.  I  have 
grown  much  older  in  the  last  twenty- four  hours.  Dear  Anna, 
even  if,  to  keep  me  beside  you,  you  were  to  give  up  all  the 
luxuries  that  you  enjoy,  your  box  at  the  opera,  and  your  toilet, 
we  should  not  have  nearly  sufficient  for  the  necessary  expenses 
of  the  extravagant  life  that  I  am  accustomed  to  ;  and,  besides, 
I  could  not  think  of  allowing  you  to  make  such  sacrifices  for 
me.     To-day,  therefore,  we  part  forever." 

*'  Then  this  is  to  take  leave  of  her  !  Holy  Virgin  !  what 
happiness !  " 

Eugenie  started  and  trembled  for  joy.  Charles  stirred  in 
his  chair,  and  Eugenie  felt  a  chill  of  dread.  Luckily,  how- 
ever, he  did  not  awaken.     She  went  on  reading. 

"When  shall  I  come  back?  I  cannot  tell.  Europeans 
grow  old  before  their  time  in  those  tropical  countries,  especi- 
ally Europeans  who  work  hard.  Let  us  look  forward  and 
try  to  see  ourselves  in  ten  years'  time.  In  ten  years  from  now 
your  little  girl  will  be  eighteen  years  old  ;  she  will  be  your  con- 
stant companion  ;  that  is,  she  will  be  a  spy  upon  you.  If  the 
world  will  judge  you  very  harshly,  your  daughter  will  probably 
judge  more  harshly  still ;  such  ingratitude  on  a  young  girl's 
part  is  coramon  enough,  and  we  know  how  the  world  regards 
these  things.  Let  us  take  warning  and  be  wise.  Only  keep 
the  memory  of  those  four  years  of  happiness  in  the  depths  of 
your  soul,  as  I  shall  keep  them  buried  in  mine ;  and  be  faith- 
ful, if  you  can,  to  your  poor  friend.  I  shall  not  be  too 
exacting,  dear  Annette ;  for,  as  you  can  see,  I  must  submit  to 
my  altered  lot ;  I  am  compelled  to  look  at  life  in  a  business- 
like way,  and  to  base  my  calculations  on  dull,  prosaic  fact. 
So  I  ought  to  think  of  marriage  as  a  necessary  step  in  my  new 
existence ;  and  I  will  confess  to  you  that  here,  in  my  uncle's 
house  in  Saumur,  there  is  a  cousin  whose  manners,  face, 
character,  and  heart  you  would  approve ;  and  who,  moreover, 
has,  it  appears " 


EUGENIE    GRANDET.  129 

"How  tired  he  must  have  been  to  break  off  like  this  when 
he  was  writing  to  her  /'^  said  Eugenie  to  herself,  as  the  letter 
ended  abruptly  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence.  She  was  ready 
with  excuses  for  him. 

How  was  it  possible  that  an  inexperienced  girl  should  dis- 
cover the  coldness  and  selfishness  of  this  letter?  For  young 
girls,  religiously  brought  up  as  she  had  been,  are  innocent  and" 
unsuspecting,  and  can  see  nothing  but  love  when  they  have 
set  foot  in  love's  enchanted  kingdom.  It  is  as  if  a  light  from 
heaven  shone  in  their  own  souls,  shedding  its  beams  upon  their 
path  ;  their  lover  shines  transfigured  before  them  in  reflected 
glory,  radiant  with  fair  colors  from  love's  magic  fires,  and  en- 
dowed with  noble  thoughts  which  perhaps  in  truth  are  none 
of  his.  Women's  errors  spring,  for  the  most  part,  from  a 
belief  in  goodness,  and  a  confidence  in  truth.  In  Eugenie's 
heart  the  words,  "My  dear  Annette — my  beloved,"  echoed 
like  the  fairest  language  of  love;  they  stirred  her  soul  like 
organ  music — like  the  divine  notes  of  the  Venite  adoremus 
falling  upon  her  ears  in  childhood. 

Surely  the  tears,  not  dry  even  yet  upon  her  cousin's  eyelids, 
betokened  the  innate  nobility  of  nature  that  never  fails  to 
attract  a  young  girl.  How  could  she  know  that  Charles' 
love  and  grief  for  his  father,  albeit  genuine,  was  due  rather  to 
the  fact  that  his  father  had  loved  him  than  to  a  deeply-rooted 
affection  on  his  own  part  for  his  father  ?  M.  and  Mme.  Guil- 
laume  Grandet  had  indulged  their  son's  every  whim ;  every 
pleasure  that  wealth  could  bestow  had  been  his  ;  and  thus  it 
followed  that  he  had  never  been  tempted  to  make  the  hideous 
calculations  that  are  only  too  common  among  the  younger 
members  of  a  family  in  Paris,  when  they  see  around  them  all 
the  delights  of  Parisian  life,  and  reflect  with  disgust  that,  so 
long  as  their  parents  are  alive,  all  these  enjoyments  are  not  for 
them.  The  strange  result  of  the  father's  lavish  kindness  had 
been  a  strong  affection  on  the  part  of  his  son,  an  affection  un- 
alloyed by  any  after-thought.  But,  for  all  that,  Charles  was 
9 


130  EUGENIE    GRANDET. 

a  thorough  child  of  Paris,  with  the  Parisian's  habit  of  mind ; 
Annette  herself  had  impressed  upon  him  the  importance  of 
thinking  out  all  the  consequences  of  every  step ;  he  was  not 
youthful,  despite  the  mask  of  youth. 

He  had  received  the  detestable  education  of  a  world  in 
which  more  crimes  (in  thought  and  word  at  least)  are  com- 
mitted in  one  evening  than  come  before  a  court  of  justice  in 
the  course  of  a  whole  session ;  a  world  in  which  great  ideas 
perish,  done  to  death  by  a  witticism,  and  where  it  is  reckoned 
a  weakness  not  to  see  things  as  they  are.  To  see  things  as 
they  are — that  means,  believe  in  nothing,  put  faith  in  nothing 
and  in  no  man,  for  there  is  no  such  thing  as  sincerity  in 
opinion  or  afTection ;  mistrust  events,  for  even  events  at  times 
have  been  known  to  be  manufactured.  To  see  things  as  they 
are  you  must  weigh  your  friend's  purse  morning  by  morning; 
you  must  know  by  instinct  the  right  moment  to  interfere  for 
your  own  profit  in  every  matter  that  turns  up ;  you  must  keep 
your  judgment  rigorously  suspended,  be  in  no  hurry  to  admire 
a  work  of  art  or  a  noble  deed,  and  give  every  one  credit  for 
interested  motives  on  every  possible  occasion. 

After  many  follies,  the  great  lady,  the  fair  Annette,  com- 
pelled Charles  to  think  seriously ;  she  talked  to  him  of  his 
future,  passing  a  fragrant  hand  through  his  hair,  and  imparted 
counsel  to  him  on  the  art  of  getting  on  in  the  world,  while 
she  twisted  a  stray  curl  about  her  fingers.  She  had  made  him 
effeminate,  and  now  she  set  herself  to  make  a  materialist  of 
him,  a  twofold  work  of  demoralization,  a  corruption  none  the 
less  deadly  because  it  never  offended  against  the  canons  of 
good  society,  good  manners,  and  good  taste. 

"You  are  a  simpleton,  Charles,"  she  would  say;  "I  see 
that  it  will  be  no  easy  task  to  teach  you  the  ways  of  the 
world.  You  were  very  naughty  about  M.  des  Lupeaulx.  Oh  ! 
he  is  not  over-fastidious,  I  grant  you,  but  you  should  wait 
until  he  falls  from  power,  and  then  you  may  despise  him  as 
much  as  you  like.     Do  you  know  what  Mme.  Campan  used  to 


EUG&SUE    GRANDET.  131 

say  to  us?  'My  children,  so  long  as  i.  man  is  a  Minister, 
adore  him ;  if  he  falls,  help  to  drag  him  to  the  shambles. 
He  is  a  kind  of  deity  so  long  as  he  is  in  power,  but  after  he  is 
fallen  and  ruined  he  is  viler  than  Marat  himself,  for  he  is  still 
alive,  while  Marat  is  dead  and  out  of  sight.  Life  is  nothing 
but  a  series  of  combinations,  which  must  be  studied  and  fol- 
lowed very  carefully  if  a  good  position  is  to  be  successfully 
maintained.'  " 

Charles  had  no  very  exalted  aims ;  he  was  too  much  of  a 
worldling;  he  had  been  too  much  spoiled  by  his  father  and 
mother,  too  much  flattered  by  the  society  in  which  he  moved, 
to  be  stirred  by  any  lofty  enthusiasm.  In  the  clay  of  his 
nature  there  was  a  grain  of  gold,  due  to  his  mother's  teach- 
ing j  but  it  had  been  passed  through  the  Parisian  draw-plate, 
and  beaten  out  into  a  thin  surface  gilding  which  must  soon  be 
worn  away  by  contact  with  the  world. 

At  this  time  Charles,  however,  was  only  one-and-twenty, 
and  it  is  taken  for  granted  that  freshness  of  heart  accompanies 
the  freshness  of  youth  ;  it  seems  so  unlikely  that  the  mind 
within  should  be  at  variance  with  the  young  face,  and  the 
young  voice,  and  the  candid  glance.  Even  the  hardest  judge, 
the  most  sceptical  attorney,  the  flintiest-hearted  money-lender 
will  hesitate  to  believe  that  a  wizened  heart  and  a  warped  and 
corrupted  nature  can  dwell  beneath  a  young  exterior,  when 
the  forehead  is  smooth  and  tears  come  so  readily  to  the  eyes. 
Hitherto  Charles  had  never  had  occasion  to  put  his  Parisian 
maxims  in  practice ;  his  character  had  not  been  tried,  and 
consequently  had  not  been  found  wanting ;  but,  all  unknown 
to  him,  egoism  had  taken  deep  root  in  his  nature.  The  seeds 
of  this  baneful  political  economy  had  been  sown  in  his  heart ; 
it  was  only  a  question  of  time,  they  would  spring  up  and 
flower  so  soon  as  the  soil  was  stirred,  as  soon  as  he  ceased  to 
be  an  idle  spectator  and  became  an  actor  in  the  drama  of  real 
life. 

A  young  girl   is  nearly  always  ready  to  believe  unques- 


132  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

tioningly  in  the  promise  of  a  fair  exterior ;  but  even  if 
Eugenie  had  been  as  keenly  observant  and  as  cautious  as  girls 
in  the  provinces  sometimes  are,  how  could  she  have  brought 
herself  to  mistrust  her  cousin,  when  all  he  did  and  said,  and 
everything  about  him,  seemed  to  be  the  spontaneous  outcome 
of  a  noble  nature?  This  was  the  last  outburst  of  real  feeling, 
the  last  reproachful  sigh  of  conscience  in  Charles'  life ;  fate 
had  thrown  them  together  at  that  moment,  and,  unfortunately 
for  her,  all  her  sympathies  had  been  aroused  for  him. 

So  she  laid  down  the  letter  that  seemed  to  her  so  full  of 
love,  and  gave  herself  up  to  the  pleasure  of  watching  her 
sleeping  cousin ;  the  dreams  and  hopes  of  youth  seemed  to 
hover  over  his  face,  and  then  and  there  she  vowed  to  herself 
that  she  would  love  him  always.  She  glanced  over  the  other 
letter ;  there  could  be  no  harm  in  reading  it,  she  thought ; 
she  should  only  receive  fresh  proofs  of  the  noble  qualities 
with  which,  womanlike,  she  had  invested  the  man  whom  she 
had  idealized. 

"My  dear  Alphonse,"  so  it  began,  "by  the  time  this 
letter  is  in  your  hands  I  shall  have  no  friends  left ;  but  I  will 
confess  that  though  I  put  no  faith  in  the  worldly-minded 
people  who  use  the  word  so  freely,  I  have  no  doubts  of  your 
friendship  for  me.  So  I  am  commissioning  you  to  settle  some 
matters  of  business.  I  look  to  you  to  do  the  best  you  can 
for  me  in  this,  for  all  I  have  in  the  world  is  involved  in  it. 
By  this  time  you  must  know  how  I  am  situated.  I  have 
nothing,  and  have  made  up  my  mind  to  go  out  to  the  Indies. 
I  have  just  written  to  all  the  people  to  whom  any  money  is 
owing,  and  the  enclosed  list  is  as  accurate  as  I  can  make  it 
from  memory.  I  think  the  sale  of  my  books,  furniture, 
carriages,  horses,  and  so  forth  ought  to  bring  in  sufficient  to 
pay  my  debts.  I  only  mean  to  keep  back  a  few  trinkets  of 
little  value,  which  will  go  some  way  towards  a  trading  venture. 
I  will  send  you  a  power  of  attorney  in  due  form  for  this  sale. 


EUGENIE   GRAXDET.  13S 

my  dear  Alphonse,  in  case  any  difficulty  should  arise.  You 
might  send  my  guns  and  everything  of  that  sort  to  me 
here.  And  you  must  take  *  Briton  ;'  no  one  would  ever  give 
me  anything  like  as  much  as  the  splendid  animal  is  worth ; 
I  would  rather  give  him  to  you,  you  must  regard  him  as  the 
mourning  ring  which  a  dying  man  leaves  in  his  will  to  his 
executor.  Farry,  Breilman  and  Co.  have  been  building  a 
very  comfortable  traveling  carriage  for  me,  but  they  have  not 
sent  it  home  yet ;  get  them  to  keep  it  if  you  can,  and  if  they 
decline  to  have  it  left  on  their  hands,  make  the  best  arrange- 
ment you  can  for  me,  and  do  all  you  can  to  save  my  honor  in 
the  position  in  which  I  am  placed.  I  lost  six  louis  at  play 
to  that  fellow  from  the  British  Isles,  mind  that  he  is " 

"Dear cousin,"  murmured  Eug6nie,  letting  the  sheet  fall, 
and,  seizing  one  of  the  lighted  candles,  she  hastened  on  tiptoe 
to  her  own  room. 

Once  there,  it  was  not  without  a  keen  feeling  of  pleasure 
that  she  opened  one  of  the  drawers  in  an  old  oak  chest — a 
most  beautiful  specimen  of  the  skill  of  the  craftsmen  of  the 
Renaissance,  you  could  still  make  out  the  half-effaced  royal 
salamander  upon  it.  From  this  drawer  she  took  a  large  red 
velvet  money-bag,  with  gold  tassels,  and  the  remains  of  a 
golden  fringe  about  it,  a  bit  of  faded  splendor  that  had  belonged 
to  her  grandmother.  In  the  pride  of  her  heart  she  felt  its 
weight,  and  joyously  set  to  work  to  reckon  up  the  value  of 
her  little  hoard,  sorting  out  the  different  coins.  Imprimis, 
twenty  Portuguese  moidores,  as  new  and  fresh  as  when  they 
were  struck  in  1725,  in  the  reign  of  John  V.j  each  was  nom- 
inally worth  five  lisbonines,  or  a  hundred  and  sixty-five  francs, 
but  actually  they  were  worth  a  hundred  and  eighty  francs  (so  her 
father  used  to  tell  her),  a  fancy  value  on  account  of  the  rarity 
and  beauty  of  the  aforesaid  coins,  which  shone  like  the  sun. 
Item,  five  genovines,  rare  Genoese  coins  of  a  hundred  livres 
each,  their  current  value  was  perhaps  about  eighty  francs,  but 


134  EUGENIE    GRANDET. 

collectors  would  give  a  hundred  for  them.  These  had  come 
to  her  from  old  M.  de  la  Bertelliere.  Item,  three  Spanish 
quadruples  of  the  time  of  Philip  V.,  bearing  the  date  1729. 
Mme.  Gentillet  had  given  them  to  her,  one  by  one,  always 
with  the  same  little  speech :  "  There's  a  little  yellow  bird, 
there's  a  buttercup  for  you,  worth  ninety-eight  livres  !  Take 
great  care  of  it,  darling;  it  will  be  the  flower  of  your  flock." 
Item  (and  those  were  the  coins  that  her  father  thought  most 
of,  for  the  gold  was  a  fraction  over  the  twenty-three  carats),  a 
hundred  Dutch  ducats,  struck  at  the  Hague  in  1756,  and  each 

worth  about  thirteen  francs.     Itetn,  a  great  curiosity ! a 

few  coins  dear  to  a  miser's  heart,  three  rupees  bearing  the  sign 
of  the  Balance,  and  five  with  the  sign  of  the  Virgin  stamped 
upon  them,  all  pure  gold  of  twenty-four  carats — the  magnifi- 
cent coins  of  the  Great  Mogul.  The  weight  of  metal  in 
them  alone  was  worth  thirty-seven  francs  forty  centimes,  but 
amateurs  who  love  to  finger  gold  would  give  fifty  francs  for 
such  coins  as  those.  Item,  the  double  napoleon  that  had 
been  given  to  her  the  day  before,  and  which  she  had  carelessly 
slipped  into  the  red  velvet  bag. 

There  were  new  gold-pieces  fresh  from  the  mint  among  her 
treasures,  real  works  of  art,  which  old  Grandet  liked  to  look 
at  from  time  to  time,  so  that  he  might  count  them  over  and 
tell  his  daughter  of  their  intrinsic  value,  expatiating  also  upon 
the  beauty  of  the  bordering,  the  sparkling  field,  the  ornate 
lettering  with  its  sharp,  clean,  flawless  outlines.  But  now  she 
gave  not  a  thought  to  their  beauty  and  rarity ;  her  father's 
mania  and  the  risks  she  ran  by  despoiling  herself  of  a  hoard 
so  precious  in  his  eyes  were  all  forgotten.  She  thought  of 
nothing  but  her  cousin,  and  managed  at  last  to  discover,  after 
many  mistakes  in  calculation,  that  she  was  the  owner  of  eigh- 
teen hundred  francs  all  told,  or  of  nearly  two  thousand  francs 
if  the  coins  were  sold  for  their  actual  value  as  curiosities. 

She  clapped  her  hands  in  exultation  at  the  sight  of  her 
riches,  like  a  child  who  is  compelled  to  find  some  outlet  for 


EUGENIE   CRANDET.  135 

his  overflowing  glee  and  dances  for  joy.  Father  and  daughter 
had  both  counted  their  wealth  that  night ;  he  in  order  to  sell 
his  gold,  she  that  she  might  cast  it  abroad  on  the  waters  of 
love.  She  put  the  money  back  into  the  old  purse,  took  it  up, 
and  went  upstairs  with  it  without  a  moment's  hesitation.  Her 
cousin's  distress  was  the  one  thought  in  her  mind  ;  she  did  not 
even  remember  that  it  was  night,  conventionalities  were  utterly 
forgotten  ;  her  conscience  did  not  reproach  her,  she  was  strong 
in  her  happiness  and  her  love. 

As  she  stood  upon  the  threshold  with  the  candle  in  one  hand 
and  the  velvet  bag  in  the  other,  Charles  awoke,  saw  his  cousin, 
and  was  struck  dumb  with  astonishment.  Eugenie  came  for- 
ward, set  the  light  on  the  table,  and  said  with  an  unsteady  voice  : 

"  Cousin  Charles,  I  have  to  ask  your  forgiveness  for  some- 
thing I  have  done ;  it  was  very  wrong,  but  if  you  will  over- 
look it,  God  will  forgive  me." 

*'  What  can  it  be  ?  "  asked  Charles,  rubbing  his  eyes. 

"  I  have  been  reading  those  two  letters." 

Charles  reddened. 

'•  Do  you  ask  how  I  came  to  do  it?"  she  went  on,  "and 
why  I  came  up  here?  Indeed,  I  do  not  know  now;  and  I 
am  almost  tempted  to  feel  glad  that  I  read  the  letters,  for 
through  reading  them  I  have  come  to  know  your  heart,  your 
soul,  and " 

'  *  And  what  ? ' '  asked  Charles. 

"  And  your  plans — the  difficulty  that  you  are  in  for  want  of 
money " 


"  My  dear  cousin " 

"  Hush  !  hush  !  do  not  speak  so  loud,  do  not  let  us  wake 
anybody.  Here  are  the  savings  of  a  poor  girl  who  has  no 
wants,"  she  went  on,  opening  the  purse.  "You  must  take 
them,  Charles.  This  morning  I  did  not  know  what  money 
was ;  you  have  taught  me  that  it  is  simply  a  means  to  an  end, 
that  is  all.  A  cousin  is  almost  a  brother;  surely  you  may 
borrow  from  your  sister." 


136  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

Eugenie,  almost  as  much  a  woman  as  a  girl,  had  not  fore- 
seen a  refusal,  but  her  cousin  was  silent. 

"  Why,  are  you  going  to  refuse  me  ?  "  asked  Eugenie.  The 
silence  was  so  deep  that  the  beating  of  her  heart  was  audible. 
Her  pride  was  wounded  by  her  cousin's  hesitation,  but  the 
thought  of  his  dire  need  came  vividly  before  her,  and  she  fell 
on  her  knees. 

"I  will  not  rise,"  she  said,  "until  you  have  taken  that 

money.     Oh  !  cousin,  say  something,  for  pity's  sake ! so 

that  I  may  know  that  you  respect  me,  that  you  are  generous, 
that " 

This  cry,  wrung  from  her  by  a  noble  despair,  brought  tears 
to  Charles'  eyes  ;  he  would  not  let  her  kneel,  she  felt  his  hot 
tears  on  her  hands,  and  sprang  to  her  purse,  which  she  emptied 
out  upon  the  table. 

**  Well,  then,  it  is  '  Yes,'  is  it  not  ?  "  she  said,  crying  for 
joy.  "  Do  not  scruple  to  take  it,  cousin  ;  you  will  be  quite 
rich.  That  gold  will  bring  you  luck,  you  know.  Some  day 
you  shall  pay  it  back  to  me,  or,  if  you  like,  we  will  be  part- 
ners; I  will  submit  to  any  conditions  that  you  may  impose. 
But  you  ought  not  to  make  so  much  of  this  gift." 

Charles  found  words  at  last. 

**  Yes,  Eugenie,  I  should  have  a  little  soul  indeed  if  I  would 
not  take  it.  But  nothing  for  nothing,  confidence  for  con- 
fidence." 

*'  What  do  you  mean?  "  she  asked,  startled. 

"Listen,  dear  cousin,  I  have  there " 

He  interrupted  himself  for  a  moment  to  show  her  a  square 
box  in  a  leather  case,  which  stood  on  the  chest  of  drawers. 

"  There  is  something  there  that  is  dearer  to  me  than  life. 
That  box  was  a  present  from  my  mother.  Since  this  morning 
I  have  thought  that  if  she  could  rise  from  her  tomb  she  her- 
self would  sell  the  gold  that  in  her  tenderness  she  lavished  on 
this  dressing-case,  but  I  cannot  do  it — it  would  seem  like 
sacrilege. 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  137 

Eugenie  grasped  her  cousin's  hand  tightly  in  hers  at  these 
last  words. 

"No,"  he  went  on  after  a  brief  pause,  during  which  they 
looked  at  each  other  with  tearful  eyes,  "  I  do  not  want  to  pull 
it  to  pieces,  nor  to  risk  taking  it  with  me  on  my  wanderings. 
I  will  leave  it  in  your  keeping,  dear  Eugenie.  Never  did  one 
friend  confide  a  more  sacred  trust  to  another  ;  but  you  shall 
judge  for  yourself." 

He  drew  the  box  from  its  leather  case,  opened  it,  and  dis- 
played before  his  cousin's  astonished  eyes  a  dressing-case 
resplendent  with  gold — the  curious  skill  of  the  craftsman  had 
only  added  to  the  value  of  the  metal. 

"All  that  you  are  admiring  is  nothing,"  he  said,  pressing 
the  spring  of  a  secret  drawer.  "There  is  something  which 
is  worth  more  than  all  the  world  to  me,"  he  added  sadly. 

He  took  out  two  portraits,  two  of  Mme.  de  Mirbel's  master- 
pieces, handsomely  set  in  pearls. 

"  How  lovely  she  is !  Is  not  this  the  lady  to  whom  you 
were  writing?  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  with  a  little  smile ;  that  is  my  mother,  and 
this  is  my  father — your  aunt  and  uncle.  Eugenie,  I  could 
beg  and  pray  of  you  on  my  knees  to  keep  this  treasure  safe 
for  me.  If  I  should  die,  and  lose  your  little  fortune,  the  gold 
will  make  good  your  loss ;  and  to  you  alone  can  I  leave  those 
two  portraits,  for  you  alone  are  worthy  to  take  charge  of  them, 
but  do  not  let  them  pass  into  any  other  hands,  rather  destroy 
them " 

Eugdnie  was  silent. 

"Well,  '  it  is  Yes,  is  it  not?'  "  he  said,  and  there  was  a 
winning  charm  in  his  manner. 

As  the  last  words  were  spoken,  she  gave  him  for  the  first 
time  such  a  glance  as  a  loving  woman  can,  a  bright  glance 
that  reveals  a  depth  of  feeling  within  her.  He  took  her  hand 
and  kissed  it. 

"Angel  of  purity!  what  is  money  henceforward  between 


138  EUG&NIE   GRANDET. 

us  two?  It  is  nothing,  is  it  not?  but  the  feeling,  which  alone 
gave  it  worth,  will  be  everything," 

"  You  are  like  your  mother.  Was  her  voice  as  musical  as 
yours,  I  wonder?" 

"  Oh  !   far  more  sweet " 

"  Yes,  for  you,"  she  said,  lowering  her  eyelids.  "  Come, 
Charles,  you  must  go  to  bed ;  I  wish  it.  You  are  very  tired. 
Good-night." 

Her  cousin  had  caught  her  hand  in  both  of  his ;  she  drew 
it  gently  away,  and  went  down  to  her  room,  her  cousin  light- 
ing the  way.     In  the  doorway  of  her  room  they  both  paused. 

'*  Oh  !  why  am  I  a  ruined  man  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Pshaw  !  my  father  is  rich,  I  believe,"  she  returned. 

"My  poor  child,"  said  Charles,  as  he  set  one  foot  in  her 
room,  and  propped  himself  against  the  wall  by  the  doorway, 
**  if  your  father  had  been  rich,  he  would  not  have  left  my  father 
die,  and  you  would  not  be  lodged  in  such  a  poor  place  as 
this  ;  he  would  live  altogether  in  quite  a  different  style." 

"But  he  has  Froidfond." 

"And  what  may  Froidfond  be  worth?" 

"  I  do  not  know  ;  but  there  is  Noyers  too." 

"  Some  miserable  farmhouse  !" 

"He  has  vineyards  and  meadows " 

"They  are  not  worth  talking  about,"  said  Charles  scorn- 
fully. "  If  your  father  had  even  twenty-four  thousand  livres 
a  year,  do  you  suppose  that  you  would  sleep  in  a  bare,  cold 
room  like  this?"  he  added,  as  he  made  a  step  forward  with 
his  left  foot.  "  That  is  where  my  treasures  will  be,"  he  went 
on,  nodding  towards  the  old  chest,  a  device  by  which  he  tried 
to  conceal  his  thoughts  from  her. 

"  Go,"  she  said,  "and  try  to  sleep,"  and  she  barred  his 
entrance  into  an  untidy  room.  Charles  drew  back;  and  the 
cousins  bade  each  other  a  smiling  good-night. 

They  fell  asleep,  to  dream  the  same  dream  j  and  from  that 
time  forward  Charles  found  that  there  were  still  roses  to  be 


EUGENIE   CRANDET.  139 

gathered  in  the  world  in  spite  of  his  mourning.  The  next 
morning  Mme.  Grandet  saw  her  daughter  walking  with  Charles 
before  breakfast.  He  was  still  sad  and  subdued ;  how,  indeed, 
should  he  be  otherwise  than  sad  ?  He  had  been  brought  very- 
low  in  his  distress;  he  was  gradually  finding  out  how  deep 
the  abyss  was  into  which  he  had  fallen,  and  the  thought  of 
the  future  weighed  heavily  upon  him. 

"  My  father  will  not  be  back  before  dinner,"  said  Eugenie, 
in  reply  to  an  anxious  look  in  her  mother's  eyes. 

The  tones  of  Eugenie's  voice  had  grown  strangely  sweet; 
it  was  easy  to  see  from  her  face  and  manner  that  the  cousins 
had  some  thought  in  common.  Their  souls  had  rushed  to- 
gether, while  perhaps  as  yet  they  scarcely  knew  the  power  or 
the  nature  of  this  force  which  was  binding  them  to  each  other. 

Charles  sat  in  the  dining-room  ;  no  one  intruded  upon  his 
sorrow.  Indeed,  the  three  women  had  plenty  to  do.  Grandet 
had  gone  without  any  warning,  and  his  work-people  were  at  a 
standstill.  The  slater  came,  the  plumber,  the  bricklayer,  and 
the  carpenter  followed  ;  so  did  laborers,  tenants,  and  vine- 
dressers, some  came  to  pay  their  dues,  and  others  to  receive 
them,  and  yet  others  to  make  bargains  for  the  repairs  which 
were  being  done.  Mme.  Grandet  and  Eugenie,  therefore, 
were  continually  going  and  coming ;  they  had  to  listen  to 
interminable  histories  from  laborers  and  country  people. 

Everything  that  came  into  the  house  Nanon  promptly  and 
securely  stowed  away  in  her  kitchen.  She  always  waited  for 
her  master's  instructions  as  to  what  should  be  kept,  and  what 
should  be  sold  in  the  market.  The  worthy  cooper,  like  many 
little  country  squires,  was  wont  to  drink  his  worst  wine,  and 
to  reserve  his  spoiled  or  wind-fallen  orchard  fruit  for  home 
consumption. 

Towards  five  o'clock  that  evening  Grandet  came  back  from 
Angers.  He  had  made  fourteen  thousand  francs  on  his  gold, 
and  carried  a  government  certificate  bearing  interest  until  the 
day  when  it  should  be  transferred  into  rentes.     He  had  left 


140  EUG&AIE   GKANDET. 

Cornoiller  also  in  Angers  to  look  after  the  horses,  which  had 
been  nearly  foundered  by  the  night  journey,  and  had  given 
instructions  to  bring  them  back  leisurely  after  they  had  had  a 
thorough  rest. 

"I  have  been  to  Angers,  wife,"  he  said;  "and  I  am 
hungry." 

"Have  you  had  nothing  to  eat  since  yesterday?"  called 
Nanou  from  her  kitchen. 

"  Nothing  whatever,"  said  the  worthy  man. 

Nanon  brought  in  the  soup.  Des  Grassins  came  to  take  his 
client's  instructions  just  as  the  family  were  sitting  down  to 
dinner.  Grandet  had  not  so  much  as  seen  his  nephew  all  this 
time. 

"Go  on  with  your  dinner,  Grandet,"  said  the  banker. 
"  We  can  have  a  little  chat*  Have  you  heard  what  gold  is 
fetching  in  Angers,  and  that  people  from  Nantes  are  buying  it 
there?     I  am  going  to  send  some  over." 

"You  need  not  trouble  yourself,"  answered  his  worthy 
client;  "they  have  quite  enough  there  by  this  time.  I 
don't  like  you  to  lose  your  labor  when  I  can  prevent  it ;  we 
are  too  good  friends  for  that." 

"  But  gold  is  at  thirteen  francs  fifty  centimes  premium." 

"  Say  was  at  a  premium." 

•'  How  the  deuce  did  you  get  to  know  that  ?  " 

"I  went  over  to  Angers  myself  last  night,"  Grandet  told 
him  in  a  low  voice. 

The  banker  started,  and  a  whispered  conversation  followed  ; 
both  des  Grassins  and  Grandet  looked  at  Charles  from  time 
to  time,  and  once  more  a  gesture  of  surprise  escaped  the 
banker,  doubtless  at  the  point  when  the  old  cooper  commis- 
sioned him  to  purchase  rentes  to  bring  in  a  hundred  thousand 
livres. 

"  M.  Grandet,"  said  des  Grassins,  addressing  Charles,  "I 
am  going  to  Paris,  and  if  there  is  anything  I  can  do  for 
you " 


EUG&NIE   GRANDET.  141 

"Thank  you,  sir,  there  is  nothing,"  Charles  replied. 

"You  must  thank  him  more  heartily  than  that,  nephew. 
This  gentleman  is  going  to  wind  up  your  father's  business  and 
settle  with  his  creditors." 

"  Then  is  there  any  hope  of  coming  to  an  arrangement  ?  " 
asked  Charles. 

"Why,  are  you  not  my  nephew?"  cried  the  cooper,  with 
a  fine  assumption  of  pride.  "  Our  honor  is  involved  ;  is  not 
your  name  Grandet?  " 

Charles  rose  from  his  chair,  impulsively  flung  his  arms  about 
his  uncle,  turned  pale,  and  left  the  room.  Eugenie  looked  at 
her  father  with  affection  and  pride  in  her  eyes. 

"Well,  let  us  say  good-bye,  my  good  friend,"  said 
Grandet.  "  I  am  very  much  at  your  service.  Try  to  get 
round  those  fellows  over  yonder." 

The  two  diplomatists  shook  hands,  and  the  cooper  went  to 
the  door  with  his  neighbor;  he  came  back  to  the  room  again 
when  he  had  closed  the  door  on  des  Grassins,  flung  himself 
down  in  his  easy-chair,  and  said  to  Nanon  :  "  Bring  me  some 
cordial." 

But  he  was  too  much  excited  to  keep  still ;  he  rose  and 
looked  at  old  M.  de  la  Bertelliere's  portrait,  and  began  to 
"dance  a  jig,"  in  Nanon's  phrase,  singing  to  himself — 

"  Once  in  the  Gardes  franfaises 
I  had  a  grandpapa " 

Nanon,  Mme.  Grandet,  and  Eugenie  all  looked  at  each 
other  in  silent  dismay.  The  vine-grower's  ecstasies  never 
boded  any  good. 

The  evening  was  soon  over.  Old  Grandet  went  off"  early 
to  bed,  and  no  one  was  allowed  to  stay  up  after  that ;  when 
he  slept,  every  one  else  must  likewise  sleep,  much  as  in  Poland, 
in  the  days  of  Augustus  the  Strong,  whenever  the  king  drank 
all  his  subjects  were  loyally  tipsy.  Wherefore,  Nanon, 
Charles,  and  Eugenie  were  no  less  tired  than  the  master  of 


142  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

the  house ;  and  as  for  Mme.  Grandet,  she  slept  or  woke,  ate 
or  drank,  as  her  husband  bade  her.  Yet  during  the  two 
hours  allotted  to  the  digestion  of  his  dinner  the  cooper  was 
more  facetious  than  he  had  ever  been  in  his  life  before,  and 
uttered  not  a  few  of  his  favorite  aphorisms;  one  example  will 
serve  to  plumb  the  depths  of  the  cooper's  mind.  When  he 
had  finished  his  cordial,  he  looked  pensively  at  the  glass,  and 
thus  delivered  himself — 

"You  have  no  sooner  set  your  lips  to  a  glass  than  it  is 
empty  !  Such  is  life.  You  cannot  have  your  cake  and  eat  it 
too,  and  you  can't  turn  over  your  money  and  keep  it  in  your 
purse  ;  if  you  could  only  do  that,  life  would  be  too  glorious." 

He  was  not  only  jocose,  he  was  good-natured,  so  that  when 
Nanon  came  in  with  her  spinning-wheel — "You  must  be 
tired,"  he  said  ;  **  let  the  hemp  alone." 

"And  if  I  did,"  the  servant  answered,"  why,  I  should  have 
to  sit  with  my  hands  before  me." 

"  Poor  Nanon  !  would  you  like  some  cordial?  " 

"  Cordial  ?  Oh  !  I  don't  say  no.  Madame  makes  it  much 
better  than  the  apothecaries  do.  The  stuff  they  sell  is  like 
physic." 

"They  spoil  the  flavor  with  putting  too  much  sugar  in  it," 
said  the  good  man. 

The  next  morning,  at  the  eight  o'clock  breakfast,  the  party 
seemed,  for  the  first  time,  almost  like  one  family.  Mme. 
Grandet,  Eugenie,  and  Charles  had  been  drawn  together  by 
these  troubles,  and  Nanon  herself  unconsciously  felt  with 
them.  As  for  the  old  vine-grower,  he  scarcely  noticed  his 
nephew's  presence  in  the  house,  his  greed  for  gold  had  been 
satisfied,  and  he  was  very  shortly  to  be  quit  of  this  young 
sprig  by  the  cheap  and  easy  expedient  of  paying  his  nephew's 
traveling  expenses  as  far  as  Nantes. 

Charles  and  Eugenie  meanwhile  were  free  to  do  what  seemed 
to  them  good.     They  were  under  Mme.  Grandet's  eyes,  and 


EUGENIE   GRAND ET.  143 

Grandet  reposed  complete  faith  in  his  wife  in  all  matters  of 
conduct  and  religion.  Moreover,  he  had  other  things  to 
think  of;  his  meadows  were  to  be  drained,  and  a  row  of 
poplars  was  to  be  planted  along  the  Loire,  and  there  was  all 
the  ordinary  winter  work  at  Froidfond  and  elsewhere  ;  in  fact, 
he  was  exceedingly  biasy. 

And  now  began  the  springtime  of  love  for  Eugenie, 
Since  that  hour  in  the  night  when  she  had  given  her  gold  to  her 
cousin,  her  heart  had  followed  the  gift.  They  shared  a  secret 
between  them ;  they  were  conscious  of  this  understanding 
whenever  they  looked  at  each  other  ;  and  this  knowledge,  that 
brought  them  more  and  more  closely  together,  drew  ihem  in  a 
manner  out  of  the  current  of  every-day  life.  And  did  not 
relationship  justify  a  certain  tenderness  in  the  voice  and 
kindness  in  the  eyes  ?  Eugenie  therefore  quietly  set  herself 
to  work  to  make  her  cousin  forget  his  grief  in  the  childish  joys 
of  growing  love. 

For  the  beginnings  of  love  and  the  beginnings  of  life  are  not 
unlike.  Is  not  the  child  soothed  by  smiles  and  cradle-songs, 
and  fairy  tales  of  a  golden  future  that  lies  before  him? 
Above  him,  too,  the  bright  wings  of  hope  are  always  spread, 
and  does  he  not  shed  tears  of  joy  or  of  sorrow,  wax  petulant 
over  trifles  and  quarrelsome  over  the  pebbles  with  which  he 
builds  a  tottering  palace,  or  the  flowers  that  are  no  sooner 
gathered  than  forgotten  ?  Is  he  not  also  eager  to  outstrip 
time,  and  to  live  in  the  future?  Love  is  the  soul's  second 
transformation. 

Love  and  childhood  were  almost  the  same  thing  for  Charles 
and  Eugenie;  the  dawn  of  love  and  its  childish  beginnings 
were  all  the  sweeter  because  their  hearts  were  full  of  gloom ; 
and  this  love,  that  from  its  birth  had  been  enveloped  in  crape, 
was  in  keeping  with  their  homely  surroundings  in  the  melan- 
choly old  house.  As  thje  cousins  interchanged  a  few  words 
by  the  well  in  the  silent  courtyard,  or  sat  out  in  the  little 
garden  towards  sunset  time,  wholly  absorbed  by  the  moment- 


144  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

ous  nothings  that  each  said  to  each,  or  wrapped  in  the 
'stillness  that  always  brooded  over  the  space  between  the 
ramparts  and  the  house,  Charles  learned  to  think  of  love  as 
something  sacred.  Hitherto,  with  his  great  lady,  his  "dear 
Annette,"  he  had  experienced  little  but  its  perils  and  storms ; 
but  that  episode  in  Paris  was  over,  with  its  coquetry  and 
passion,  its  vanity  and  emptiness,  and  he  turned  to  this  love 
in  its  purity  and  truth. 

He  came  to  feel  a  certain  fondness  for  the  old  house,  and 
their  way  of  life  no  longer  seemed  absurd  to  him.  He  would 
come  downstairs  early  in  the  morning  so  as  to  snatch  a  few 
words  with  Eugenie  before  her  father  gave  out  the  stores; 
and  when  the  sound  of  Grandet's  heavy  footstep  echoed  on 
the  staircase,  he  fled  into  the  garden.  Even  Eugenie's  mother 
did  not  know  of  this  morning  tryst  of  theirs,  and  Nanon 
made  as  though  she  did  not  see  it ;  it  was  a  small  piece 
of  audacity  that  gave  the  keen  relish  of  a  stolen  pleasure  to 
their  innocent  love.  Then  when  breakfast  was  over,  and 
the  elder  Grandet  had  gone  to  see  after  his  business  and 
his  improvements,  Charles  sat  in  the  gray  parlor  between 
the  mother  and  daughter,  finding  a  pleasure  unknown  be- 
fore in  holding  skeins  of  thread  for  them  to  wind,  in  listening 
to  their  talk,  and  watching  them  sew.  There  was  something 
that  appealed  to  him  strongly  in  the  almost  monastic  sim- 
plicity of  the  life,  which  had  led  him  to  discover  the  nobleness 
of  the  natures  of  these  two  unworldly  women.  He  had  not 
believed  that  such  lives  as  these  were  possible  in  France ;  in 
Germany  he  admitted  that  old-world  manners  lingered  still, 
but  in  France  they  were  only  to  be  found  in  fiction  and  in 
Auguste  Lafontaine's  novels.  It  was  not  long  before  Eu- 
genie became  an  embodiment  of  his  ideal,  Goethe's  Mar- 
guerite without  her  error. 

Day  after  day,  in  short,  the  poor  girl  hung  on  his  words 
and  looks,  and  drifted  farther  along  the  stream  of  love.  He 
snatched  at  every  happiness  as  some  swimmer  might  catch  at 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  145 

an  overhanging  willow  branch,  that  so  he  might  reach  the 
bank  and  rest  there  for  a  little  while. 

Was  not  the  time  of  parting  very  near  now  ?  The  shadow 
of  that  parting  seemed  to  fall  across  the  brightest  hours  of 
those  days  that  fled  so  fast ;  and  not  one  of  them  went  by 
but  something  happened  to  remind  her  how  soon  it  would  be 
upon  them. 

For  instance,  three  days  after  des  Grassins  had  started  for 
Paris,  Grandet  had  taken  Charles  before  a  magistrate  with  the 
funereal  solemnity  with  which  such  acts  are  performed  by 
provincials,  and  in  the  presence  of  that  functionary  the  young 
man  had  had  to  sign  a  declaration  that  he  renounced  all  claim 
to  his  father's  property.  Dreadful  repudiation  !  An  impiety 
amounting  to  apostasy  !  He  went  to  M.  Cruchot  to  procure 
two  powers  of  attorney,  one  for  des  Grassins,  the  other  for  the 
friend  who  was  commissioned  to  sell  his  own  personal  effects. 
There  were  also  some  necessary  formalities  in  connection  with 
his  passport ;  and  finally,  on  the  arrival  of  the  plain  suit  of 
mourning  which  Charles  had  ordered  from  Paris,  he  sent  for 
a  clothier  in  Saumur,  and  disposed  of  his  now  useless  ward- 
robe.    This  transaction  was  peculiarly  pleasing  to  old  Grandet. 

*'  Ah  !  Now  you  look  like  a  man  who  is  ready  to  set  out, 
and  means  to  make  his  way  in  the  world,"  he  said,  as  he  saw 
his  nephew  in  a  plain,  black  overcoat  of  rough  cloth.  "  Good, 
very  good  !  " 

*'  I  beg  you  to  believe,  sir,"  Charles  replied,  "  that  I  shall 
face  my  position  with  proper  spirit." 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  "  asked  his  worthy  relative;  there 
was  an  eager  look  in  the  good  man's  eyes  at  the  sight  of  a 
handful  of  gold  which  Charles  held  out  to  him. 

"I  have  gathered  together  my  studs  and  rings  and  every- 
thing of  any  value  that  I  have ;  I  am  not  likely  to  want  them 
now ;  but  I  know  of  nobody  in  Saumur,  and  this  morning  I 
thought  I  would  ask  you " 

*'  To  buy  it  ?  "  Grandet  broke  in  upon  him. 
10 


146  EUGilNIE   GRANDE T. 

"  No,  uncle,  to  give  me  the  name  of  some  honest  man 
who " 

"  Give  it  to  me,  nephew;  I  will  take  it  up  stairs  and  find 
out  what  it  is  worth,  and  let  you  know  the  value  to  a 
centime.  Jeweler's  gold,"  he  commented,  after  an  examina- 
tion of  a  long  chain,  "jeweler's  gold,  eighteen  to  nineteen 
carats,  I  should  say." 

The  worthy  soul  held  out  his  huge  hand  for  it,  and  carried 
off  the  whole  collection. 

"  Cousin  Eugenie,"  said  Charles,  "permit  me  to  offer  you 
these  two  clasps ;  you  might  use  them  to  fasten  ribbons  round 
your  wrists,  that  sort  of  bracelet  is  all  the  rage  just  now." 

"I  do  not  hesitate  to  take  it;  cousin,"  she  said,  with  a 
look  of  intelligence. 

**  And,  aunt,  this  is  my  mother's  thimble  ;  I  have  treasured 
it  up  till  now  in  my  dressing-case,"  and  he  gave  a  pretty  gold 
thimble  to  Mme.  Grandet,  who  for  the  past  ten  years  had 
longed  for  one. 

"It  is  impossible  to  thank  you  in  words,  dear  nephew," 
said  the  old  mother,  as  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "  But 
morning  and  evening  I  shall  repeat  the  prayer  for  travelers, 
and  pray  most  fervently  for  you.  If  anything  should  happen 
to  me,  Eugenie  shall  take  care  of  it  for  you." 

"  It  is  worth  nine  hundred  and  eighty-nine  francs  seventy- 
five  centimes,  nephew,"  said  Grandet,  as  he  came  in  at  the 
door.  "  But  to  save  you  the  trouble  of  selling  it,  I  will  let 
you  have  the  money  in  livres." 

This  expression  "in  livres"  means,  in  the  districts  along 
the  Loire,  that  a  crown  of  six  livres  is  to  be  considered  worth 
six  francs,  without  deduction. 

"I  did  not  venture  to  suggest  such  a  thing,"  Charles 
answered,  "  but  I  shrank  from  hawking  my  trinkets  about  in 
the  town  where  you  are  living.  Dirty  linen  ought  not  to  be 
washed  in  public,  as  Napoleon  used  to  say.  Thank  you  for 
obliging  me." 


EUGENIE   GRAND ET.  147 

Grandet  scratched  his  ear,  and  there  was  a  moment's 
silence  in  the  room. 

**  And,  dear  uncle,"  Charles  went  on,  somewhat  nervously, 
and  as  though  he  feared  to  wound  his  uncle's  susceptibilities, 
"my  cousin  and  aunt  have  consented  to  receive  trifling- 
mementoes  from  me ;  will  you  not  in  your  turn  accept  these 
sleeve-links,  which  are  useless  to  me  now  ;  they  may  perhaps 
recall  to  your  memory  a  poor  boy,  in  a  far-off"  country,  whose 
thoughts  will  certainly  often  turn  to  those  who  are  all  that 
remain  to  him  now  of  his  family." 

"  Oh  !  my  boy,  my  boy,  you  must  not  strip  yourself  like 
that  for  us ' ' 

"What  have  you  there,  wife?"  said  the  cooper,  turning 
eagerly  towards  her.  "Ah!  a  gold  thimble?  And  you, 
little  girl  ?  Diamond  clasps  ;  what  next  !  Come,  I  will 
accept  your  studs,  my  boy,"  he  continued,  squeezing  Charles' 

hand.     "  But you  must  let  me  pay your yes,  your 

passage  out  to  the  Indies.  Yes,  I  mean  to  pay  your  passage. 
Besides,  my  boy,  when  I  estimated  your  jewelry  I  only  took 
it  at  its  value  as  metal,  you  see,  without  reckoning  the  work- 
manship, and  it  may  be  worth  a  trifle  more  on  that  account. 

So  that  is  settled.     I  will  pay  you  fifteen  hundred  francs 

in  livres;  Cruchot  will  lend  it  me,  for  I  have  not  a  brass 
farthing  in  the  house ;  unless  Perrotet,  who  is  getting  behind- 
hand with  his  dues,  will  pay  me  in  coin.  There  !  there !  I 
will  go  and  see  about  it,"  and  he  took  up  his  hat,  put  on  his 
gloves,  and  went  forthwith. 

"  Then  you  are  going  ?  "  said  Eugenie,  with  sad,  admiring 
eyes. 

'*  I  cannot  help  myself,"  he  answered,  with  his  head  bent 
down. 

For  several  days  Charles  looked,  spoke,  and  behaved  like  a 
man  who  is  in  deep  trouble,  but  who  feels  the  weight  of  such 
heavy  obligations,  that  his  misfortunes  only  brace  him  for 
greater  effort.     He  had  ceased  to  pity  himself;  he  had  become 


148  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

a  man.  Never  had  Eugenie  augured  better  of  her  cousin's 
character  than  she  did  on  the  day  when  she  watched  him 
come  downstairs  in  his  plain,  black  mourning  suit,  which  set 
off  his  pale,  sad  face  to  such  advantage.  The  two  women 
had  also  gone  into  mourning,  and  went  with  Charles  to  the 
requiem  mass  celebrated  in  the  parish  church  for  the  soul  of  the 
late  Guillaume  Grandet. 

Charles  received  letters  from  Paris  as  they  took  the  mid- 
day meal ;  he  opened  and  read  them. 

"Well,  cousin,"  said  Eugenie,  in  a  low  voice,  "are  your 
affairs  going  on  satisfactorily  ?  " 

"Never  put  questions  of  that  sort,  my  girl,"  remarked 
Grandet.  "  I  never  talk  to  you  about  my  affairs,  and  why 
the  devil  should  you  meddle  in  your  cousin's?  Just  let  the 
boy  alone." 

"  Oh  !  my  dear  uncle,  I  have  no  secrets  of  any  sort,"  said 
Charles. 

"Tut,  tut,  tut.  You  will  find  out  that  you  must  bridle 
your  tongue  in  business,  nephew." 

When  the  two  lovers  were  alone  in  the  garden,  Charles 
drew  Eugenie  to  the  old  bench  under  the  walnut  tree  where 
they  so  often  sat  of  late. 

"I  felt  sure  of  Alphonse,  and  I  was  right,"  he  said  ;  "he 
has  done  wonders,  and  has  settled  my  affairs  prudently  and 
loyally.  All  my  debts  in  Paris  are  paid,  my  furniture  sold 
well,  and  he  tells  me  that  he  has  acted  on  the  advice  of  an 
old  sea  captain  who  had  made  the  voyage  to  the  Indies,  and  has 
invested  the  surplus  money  in  ornaments  and  odds  and  ends 
for  which  there  is  a  great  demand  out  there.  He  has  sent  my 
packages  to  Nantes,  where  an  East  Indiaman  is  taking  freight 
for  Java,  and  so,  Eugenie,  in  five  days  we  must  bid  each  other 
farewell,  for  a  long  while  at  any  rate,  and  perhaps  forever. 
My  trading  venture  and  the  ten  thousand  francs  which  two  of 
my  friends  have  sent  me  are  a  very  poor  start ;  I  cannot 
expect  to  return  for  many  years.     Dear  cousin,  let  us  not  con- 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  149 

sider  ourselves  bound  in  any  way ;  I  may  die,  and  very  likely 
some  good  opportunity  for  settling  yourself " 

"  You  love  me  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Oh!  yes,  indeed,"  he  replied,  with  an  earnestness  of 
manner  that  betokened  a  like  earnestness  in  his  feelings. 

"Then  I  will  wait  for  you,  Charles.  Dieu  !  my  father  is 
looking  out  of  his  window,"  she  exclaimed,  evading  her 
cousin,  who  had  drawn  closer  to  embrace  her. 

She  fled  to  the  archway  j  and  seeing  that  Charles  followed 
her  thither,  she  retreated  farther,  flung  back  the  folding  door 
at  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  and  with  no  very  clear  idea,  save 
that  of  flight,  she  rushed  towards  the  darkest  corner  of  the 
passage,  outside  Nanon's  sleeping  hole  ;  and  there  Charles, 
who  was  close  beside  her,  grasped  both  hands  in  his  and 
pressed  her  to  his  heart ;  his  arms  went  round  her  waist, 
Eugenie  resisted  no  longer,  and  leaning  against  her  lover  she 
received  and  gave  the  purest,  sweetest,  and  most  perfect  of  all 
kisses. 

"  Dear  Eugenie,  a  cousin  is  better  than  a  brother ;  he  can 
marry  you,"  said  Charles. 

"  Amen,  so  be  it !  "  cried  Nanon,  opening  the  door  behind 
ihem,  and  emerging  from  her  den.  Her  voice  startled  the 
two  lovers,  who  fled  into  the  dining-room,  where  Eugenie 
took  up  her  sewing,  and  Charles  seized  on  Mme.  Grandet's 
prayer  book,  opened  it  at  the  litanies  of  the  Virgin,  and  began 
to  read  industriously. 

**  Why !  "  said  Nanon,  "  so  we  are  all  saying  our  prayers  !  '* 

As  soon  as  Charles  fixed  the  day  for  his  departure,  Grandet 
bustled  about  and  affected  to  take  the  greatest  interest  in  the 
whole  matter.  He  was  liberal  with  advice,  and  with  anything 
else  that  cost  him  nothing,  first  seeking  out  a  packer  for 
Charles,  and  then,  saying  that  the  man  wanted  too  much  for 
his  cases,  setting  to  work  with  all  his  might  to  make  them 
himself,  using  odd  planks  for  the  purpose.     He  was  up  be- 


150  eugAnie  grandet. 

times  every  morning  planing,  fitting,  nailing  deal  boards 
together,  squaring  and  shaping ;  and,  in  fact,  he  made  some 
strong  cases,  packed  all  Charles'  property  in  them,  and  under- 
took to  send  them  by  steamer  down  the  Loire  to  Nantes  in 
time  to  go  by  the  merchant  ship,  and  to  insure  them  during 
the  voyage. 

Since  that  kiss  given  and  taken  in  the  passage,  the  hours 
sped  with  terrible  rapidity  for  Eugenie,  At  times  she  thought 
of  following  her  cousin ;  for  of  all  ties  that  bind  one  human  be- 
ing to  another,  this  passion  of  love  is  the  closest  and  strongest, 
and  those  who  know  this,  and  know  how  every  day  shortens 
love's  allotted  span,  and  how  not  time  alone  but  age  and 
mortal  sickness  and  all  the  untoward  accidents  of  life  combine 
to  menace  it — these  will  know  the  agony  that  Eug6nie  suf- 
fered. She  shed  many  tears  as  she  walked  up  and  down  the 
little  garden  ;  it  had  grown  so  narrow  for  her  now;  the  court- 
yard, tl)e  old  house,  and  the  town  had  all  grown  narrow, 
and  her  thoughts  fared  forth  already  across  vast  spaces  of 
sea. 

It  was  the  day  before  the  day  of  departure.  That  morning, 
while  Grandet  and  Nanon  were  out  of  the  house,  the  precious 
casket  that  held  the  two  portraits  was  solemnly  deposited  in 
Eugenie's  chest,  beside  the  now  empty  velvet  bag  in  the  only 
drawer  that  could  be  locked,  an  installation  which  was  not 
affected  without  many  tears  and  kisses.  When  Eugdnie  locked 
the  drawer  and  hid  the  key  in  her  bosom,  she  had  not  the 
courage  to  forbid  the  kiss  by  which  Charles  sealed  the  act. 

**  The  key  shall  always  stay  there,  dear." 

"Ah  I  well,  my  heart  will  always  be  there  with  it  too." 

"Oh  !  Charles,  you  should  not  say  that,"  she  said  a  little 
reproachfully. 

"  Are  we  not  married  ?  "  he  replied.  "  I  have  your  word  j 
take  mine." 

"  Thine  forever  !  "  they  said  together,  and  repeated  it  a 
second  time.     No  holier  vow  was  ever  made  on  earth  ;  for 


EUGENIE   GRANDE  T.  151 

Charles'  love  had  received  a  moment's  consecration  in  the 
presence  of  Eugenie's  simple  sincerity. 

It  was  a  melancholy  group  round  the  breakfast-table  next 
morning.  Even  Nanon  herself,  in  spite  of  Charles'  gift  of  a 
new  gown  and  a  gilt  cross,  had  a  tear  in  her  eye  ;  but  she  was 
free  to  express  her  feelings,  and  did  so. 

"  Oh  !  that  poor,  delicate  young  gentleman  who  is  going  to 
sea,"  was  the  burden  of  her  discourse. 

At  half-past  ten  the  whole  family  left  the  house  to  see  Charles 
start  for  Nantes  in  the  diligence.  Nanon  had  let  the  dog 
loose  and  locked  the  door,  and  meant  to  carry  Charles'  hand- 
bag. Every  shopkeeper  in  the  ancient  street  was  in  the  door- 
way to  watch  the  little  procession  pass.  M.  Cruchot  joined 
them  in  the  market-place. 

"  Eug6nie,"  whispered  her  mother,  •''  mind  you  do  not  cry !  " 

They  reached  the  gateway  of  the  inn,  and  there  Grandet 
kissed  Charles  on  both  cheeks.  "Well !  nephew,"  he  said, 
"  set  out  poor  and  come  back  rich ;  you  leave  your  father's 
honor  in  safe-keeping.  I — Grandet — will  answer  to  you  for 
that ;  you  will  only  have  to  do  your  part " 

"  Oh  !  uncle,  this  sweetens  the  bitterness  of  parting.  Is 
not  this  the  greatest  gift  you  could  possibly  give  me  ?  " 

Charles  had  broken  in  upon  the  old  cooper's  remarks  before 
he  quite  understood  their  drift ;  he  put  his  arms  round  his 
uncle's  neck,  and  let  fall  tears  of  gratitude  on  the  vine-grower's 
sunburned  cheeks  ;  Eugenie  clasped  her  cousin's  hand  in  one 
of  hers  and  her  father's  in  the  other,  and  held  them  tightly. 
Only  the  notary  smiled  to  himself ;  he  alone  understood  the 
worthy  man,  and  he  could  not  help  admiring  his  astute  cun- 
ning. The  four  Saumurois  and  a  little  group  of  onlookers  hung 
about  the  diligence  till  the  last  moment ;  and  looked  after  it 
ui>til  it  disappeared  across  the  bridge,  and  the  sound  of  the 
wheels  grew  faint  and  distant. 

"A  good  riddance  !  "  said  the  cooper. 

Luckily,  no  one  but  M.  Cruchot  heard  this  ejaculation ; 


152  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

Eugenie  and  her  mother  had  walked  along  tlie  quay  to  a  point 
of  view  whence  they  could  still  see  the  diligence,  and  stood 
there  waving  their  handkerchiefs  and  watching  Charles' 
answering  signal  till  he  was  out  of  sight ;  then  Eugenie 
turned. 

"Oh!  mother,  mother,  if  I  had  God's  power  for  one 
moment,"  she  said. 

To  save  farther  interruption  to  the  course  of  the  story,  it  is 
necessary  to  glance  a  little  ahead,  and  give  a  brief  account 
of  the  course  of  events  in  Paris,  of  Grandet's  calculations, 
and  the  action  taken  by  his  worthy  lieutenant  the  banker  in 
the  matter  of  Guillaume  Grandet's  affairs.  A  month  after 
des  Grassins  had  gone,  Grandet  received  a  certificate  for  a 
hundred  thousand  livres  per  annum  of  rentes,  purchased  at 
eighty  francs.  No  information  was  ever  forthcoming  as  to 
how  and  when  the  actual  coin  had  been  paid,  or  the  receipt 
taken,  which  in  due  course  had  been  exchanged  for  the  certi- 
ficate. The  inventory  and  statement  of  his  affairs  which  the 
miser  left  at  his  death  threw  no  light  upon  the  mystery,  and 
Cruchot  fancied  that  in  some  way  or  other  Nan  on  must  have 
been  the  unconscious  instrument  employed  ;  for  about  that 
time  the  faithful  serving-maid  was  away  from  home  for  four  or 
five  days,  ostensibly  to  see  after  matters  at  Froidfond,  as  if  its 
worthy  owner  were  likely  to  forget  anything  there  that  re- 
quired looking  after  !  As  for  Guillaume  Grandet's  creditors, 
everything  had  happened  as  the  cooper  had  intended  and 
foreseen. 

At  the  Bank  of  France  (as  everybody  knows)  they  keep 
accurate  lists  of  all  the  great  fortunes  in  Paris  or  in  the 
departments.  The  names  of  des  Grassins  and  of  Felix 
Grandet  of  Saumur  were  duly  to  be  found  inscribed  therein  ; 
indeed,  they  shone  conspicuous  there  as  well-known  names 
in  the  business  world,  as  men  who  were  not  only  financially 
sound,  but  owners  of  broad  acres  unencumbered  by  mortgages. 
And  now  it  was  said  that  des  Grassins  of  Saumur  had  come  to 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  153 

Paris  with  intent  to  call  a  meeting  of  the  creditors  of  the 
firm  of  Guillaume  Grandet ;  the  shade  of  the  wine  merchant 
was  to  be  spared  the  disgrace  of  protested  bills.  The  seals 
were  broken  in  the  presence  of  the  creditors,  and  the  family 
notary  proceeded  to  make  out  an  inventory  in  due  form. 

Before  very  long,  in  fact,  des  Grassins  called  a  meeting  of 
the  creditors,  who  with  one  voice  appointed  the  banker  of 
Saumur  as  trustee  conjointly  with  Francois  Keller,  the  head 
of  a  large  business  house,  and  one  of  the  principal  creditors, 
empowering  them  to  take  such  measures  as  they  thought  fit,  in 
order  to  save  the  family  name  (and  the  bills)  from  being  dis- 
honored. The  fact  that  des  Grassins  was  acting  as  his  agent 
produced  a  hopeful  tone  in  the  meeting,  and  things  went 
smoothly  from  the  first ;  the  banker  did  not  find  a  single  dis- 
sentient voice.  No  one  thought  of  passing  his  bill  to  his 
profit  and  loss  account,  and  each  one  said  to  himself — 

"  Grandet  of  Saumur  is  going  to  pay  ! " 

Six  months  went  by.  The  Parisian  merchants  had  with- 
drawn the  bills  from  circulation,  and  had  consigned  them  to 
the  depths  of  their  portfolios.  The  cooper  had  gained  his 
first  point.  Nine  months  after  the  first  meeting  the  two 
trustees  paid  the  creditors  a  dividend  of  forty-seven  per  cent. 
This  sum  had  been  raised  by  the  sale  of  the  late  Guillaume 
Grandet's  property,  goods,  chattels  and  general  effects;  the 
most  scrupulous  integrity  characterized  these  proceedings; 
indeed,  the  whole  affair  was  conducted  with  the  most  con- 
scientious honesty,  and  the  delighted  creditors  fell  to  admiring 
Grandet's  wonderful,  indubitable,  and  high-minded  probity. 
When  these  praises  had  duly  circulated  for  a  sufficient  length 
of  time,  the  creditors  began  to  ask  themselves  when  the 
remainder  of  their  money  would  be  forthcoming,  and  bethought 
them  of  collectively  writing  a  letter  to  Grandet. 

"Here  we  are!"  was  the  old  cooper's  comment,  as  he 
fiung  the  letter  in  the  fire.  "  Patience,  patience,  my  dear 
friends." 


154  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

By  way  of  a  reply  to  the  propositions  contained  in  the  letter, 
Grandet  of  Saumur  required  them  to  deposit  with  a  notary 
all  the  bills  and  claims  against  the  estate  of  his  deceased 
brother,  accompanying  each  with  receipts  for  the  payments 
already  made.  The  accounts  were  to  be  audited,  and  the 
exact  condition  of  affairs  was  to  be  ascertained.  Innumer- 
able difficulties  were  cleared  away  by  this  notion  of  the  de- 
posit. 

A  creditor,  generally  speaking,  is  a  sort  of  maniac ;  there 
is  no  saying  what  a  creditor  will  do.  One  day  he  is  in  a 
hurry  to  bring  the  thing  to  an  end,  the  next  he  is  all  for  fire 
and  sword,  a  little  later  and  he  is  sweetness  and  benignity 
itself.  To-day,  very  probably,  his  wife  is  in  a  good  humor, 
his  youngest  hope  has  just  cut  a  tooth,  everything  is  going 
on  comfortably  at  home,  he  has  no  mind  to  abate  his  claims 
one  jot;  but  to-morrow  comes  and  it  rains,  and  he  cannot  go 
out ;  he  feels  low  in  his  mind,  and  agrees  hastily  to  anything 
and  everything  that  is  likely  to  settle  the  affair ;  the  next  morn- 
ing brings  counsel ;  he  requires  a  guarantee,  and  by  the  end  of 
the  month  he  talks  about  an  execution,  the  inhuman,  blood- 
thirsty wretch  !  The  creditor  is  not  unlike  that  common  or 
house  sparrow  on  whose  tail  small  children  are  encouraged  to 
try  to  put  a  grain  of  salt — a  pleasing  simile  which  a  creditor 
may  twist  to  his  own  uses,  and  apply  to  his  bills,  from  which 
he  fondly  hopes  to  derive  some  benefit  at  last.  Grandet  had 
observed  these  atmospheric  variations  among  creditors ;  and 
his  forecasts  in  the  present  case  were  correct,  his  brother's 
creditors  were  behaving  in  every  respect  exactly  as  he  wished. 
Some  waxed  wroth,  and  flatly  declined  to  have  anything  to  do 
with  the  deposit,  or  to  give  up  the  vouchers. 

"  Good  !  "  said  Grandet ;  "  that  is  all  right !  "  He  rubbed 
his  hands  as  he  read  the  letters  which  des  Grassins  wrote  to 
him  on  the  subject. 

Yet  others  refused  to  consent  to  the  aforesaid  deposit  unless 
their  position  was  clearly  defined  in  the  first  place ;  it  was  to 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  155 

be  made  without  prejudice,  and  they  reserved  the  right  to 
declare  the  estate  bankrupt  should  they  deem  it  advisable. 
This  opened  a  fresh  correspondence,  and  occasioned  a  farther 
delay,  after  which  Grandet  finally  agreed  to  all  the  conditions, 
and  as  a  consequence  the  more  tractable  creditors  brought 
the  recalcitrant  to  hear  reason,  and  the  deposit  was  made,  not, 
however,  without  some  grumbling. 

"  Tiiat  old  fellow  is  laughing  in  his  sleeve  at  you  and  us 
too,"  said  they  to  des  Grassins. 

Twenty-three  months  after  Guillaume  Grandet's  death,  many 
of  the  merchants  had  forgotten  all  about  their  claims  in  the 
course  of  events  in  a  business  life  in  Paris,  or  they  only 
thought  of  them  to  say  to  themselves — 

"  It  begins  to  look  as  though  the  forty-seven  per  cent,  is 
about  all  I  shall  get  out  of  that  business." 

The  cooper  had  reckoned  on  the  aid  of  time,  who,  as  he 
was  wont  to  say,  is  a  good  fellow.  By  the  end  of  the  third 
year  des  Grassins  wrote  to  Grandet  saying  that  he  had  in- 
duced most  of  the  creditors  to  give  up  their  bills,  and  that  the 
amount  now  owing  was  only  about  ten  per  cent,  of  the  out- 
standing two  million  four  hundred  thousand  francs.  Grandet 
replied  that  there  yet  remained  the  notary  and  the  stockbroker, 
whose  failures  had  been  the  death  of  his  brother ;  they  were 
still  alive.  They  might  be  solvent  again  by  this  time,  and 
proceedings  ought  to  be  taken  against  them  ;  something  might 
be  recovered  in  this  way  which  would  still  farther  reduce  the 
sum-total  of  the  deficit. 

When  the  fourth  year  drew  to  a  close  the  deficit  had  been 
duly  brought  down  to  the  sum  of  twelve  hundred  thousand 
francs ;  the  limit  appeared  to  have  been  reached.  Six  months 
farther  were  spent  in  parleyings  between  the  trustees  and  the 
creditors,  and  between  Grandet  and  the  trustees.  In  short, 
strong  pressure  being  brought  to  bear  upon  Grandet  of  Saumur, 
he  announced,  somewhere  about  the  ninth  month  of  the  same 
year,  that  his  nephew,  who  had  made  a  fortune  in  the  East 


156  EUGENIE   GRAXDET. 

Indies,  had  signified  his  intention  of  settling  in  full  all  claims  on 
his  father's  estate ;  and  that  meantime  he  could  not  take  it  upon 
himself  to  act,  nor  to  defraud  the  creditors  by  winding  up  the 
affair  before  he  had  consulted  his  nephew ;  he  added  that  he 
had  written  to  him,  and  was  now  awaiting  an  answer. 

The  middle  of  the  fifth  year  had  been  reached,  and  still 
the  creditors  were  held  in  check  by  the  magic  words  in  full, 
let  fall  judiciously  from  time  to  time  by  the  sublime  cooper, 
who  was  laughing  at  them  in  his  sleeve ;  "  those  Parisians," 
he  would  say  to  himself,  with  a  mild  oath,  and  a  cunning 
smile  would  steal  across  his  features. 

In  fact,  a  martyrdom  unknown  to  the  calendars  of  com- 
merce was  in  store  for  the  creditors.  When  next  they 
appear  in  the  course  of  this  story,  they  will  be  found  in 
exactly  the  same  position  that  they  were  in  now  when 
Grandet  had  done  with  them.  Consols  went  up  to  a  hundred 
and  fifteen,  old  Grandet  sold  out,  and  received  from  Paris 
about  two  million  four  hundred  thousand  francs  in  gold, 
which  went  into  his  wooden  kegs  to  keep  company  with  the 
six  hundred  thousand  francs  of  interest  which  his  investment 
had  brought  in. 

Des  Grassins  stayed  on  in  Paris,  and  for  the  following 
reasons.  In  the  first  place,  he  had  been  appointed  a  deputy ; 
and  in  the  second,  he,  the  father  of  a  family,  bored  by  the 
exceeding  dulness  of  existence  in  Saumur,  was  smitten  with  the 
charms  of  Mile.  Florine,  one  of  the  prettiest  actresses  of  the 
Th^^tre  de  Madame,  and  there  was  a  recrudescence  of  the 
quartermaster  in  the  banker.  It  is  useless  to  discuss  his  con- 
duct ;  at  Saumur  it  was  pronounced  to  be  profoundly  immoral. 
It  was  very  lucky  for  his  wife  that  she  had  brains  enough  to 
carry  on  the  concern  at  Saumur  in  her  own  name,  and  could 
extricate  the  remains  of  her  fortune,  which  had  suffered  not  a 
little  from  M.  des  Grassins'  extravagance  and  folly.  But  the 
quasi-widow  was  in  a  false  position,  and  the  Cruchotins  did 
all  that  in  them  lay  to  make  matters  worse ;  she  had  to  give 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  157 

up  all  hope  of  a  match  between  her  son  and  Eugenie  Grandet, 
and  married  her  daughter  very  badly.  Adolphe  des  Grassins 
went  to  join  his  father  in  Paris,  and  there  acquired,  so  it  was 
said,  an  unenviable  reputation.  The  triumph  of  the  Cruchotins 
was  complete. 

"Your  husband  has  taken  leave  of  his  senses,"  Grandet 
took  occasion  to  remark  as  he  accommodated  Mme.  des 
Grassins  with  a  loan  (on  good  security).  "  I  am  very  sorry 
for  you  ;  you  are  a  nice  little  woman." 

"Ah  !  "  sighed  the  poor  lady,  "who  could  have  believed 
that  day  when  he  set  out  for  Paris  to  see  after  that  business  of 
yours  that  he  was  hurrying  to  his  own  ruin  ?  " 

"  Heaven  is  my  witness,  madame,  that  to  the  very  last  I  did 
all  I  could  to  prevent  him,  and  M.  le  President  was  dying 
to  go ;  but  we  know  now  why  your  husband  was  so  set 
upon  it." 

Clearly,  therefore,  Grandet  lay  under  no  obligation  to  des 
Grassins. 

In  every  situation  a  woman  is  bound  to  suffer  in  many 
ways  that  a  man  does  not,  and  to  feel  her  troubles  more 
acutely  than  he  can  ;  for  a  man's  vigor  and  energy  are  con- 
stantly brought  into  play ;  he  acts  and  thinks,  comes  and 
goes,  busies  himself  in  the  present,  and  looks  to  the  future 
for  consolation.  This  was  what  Charles  was  doing.  But  a 
woman  cannot  help  herself — hers  is  a  passive  part ;  she  is 
left  face  to  face  with  her  trouble,  and  has  nothing  to  divert 
her  mind  from  it ;  she  sounds  the  depths  of  the  abyss  of 
sorrow,  and  its  dark  places  are  filled  with  her  prayers  and 
tears.  So  it  was  with  Eugenie.  She  was  beginning  to  under- 
stand that  the  web  of  a  woman's  life  will  always  be  woven 
of  love  and  sorrow  and  hope  and  fear  and  self-sacrifice ; 
hers  was  to  be  a  woman's  lot  in  all  things  without  a 
woman's  consolations,  and  her  moments  of  happiness  (to 
make  use  of  Bossuet's  wonderful  illustration)  were  to  be  like 


158  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

the  scattered  nails  driven  into  the  wall,  when  all  collected 
together  they  scarcely  filled  the  hollow  of  the  hand.  Troubles 
seldom  keep  us  waiting  for  them,  and  for  Eugenie  they 
were  gathering  thick  and  fast. 

The  day  after  Charles  had  gone,  the  Grandet  household  fell 
back  into  the  old  ways  of  life  ;  there  was  no  difference  for  any 
one  but  Eugenie — for  her  the  house  had  grown  very  empty  all 
of  a  sudden.  Charles'  room  should  remain  just  as  he  had  left 
it ;  Mme.  Grandet  and  Nanon  lent  themselves  to  this  whim 
of  hers,  willingly  maintained  the  statu  quo,  and  said  nothing 
to  her  father. 

"Who  knows?"  Eugenie  said.  "He  may  come  back  to 
us  sooner  than  we  think." 

"Ah  !  I  wish  I  could  see  him  here  again,"  replied  Nanon. 
"  I  could  get  on  with  him  well  enough  !  He  was  very  nice, 
and  an  excellent  gentleman  ;  and  he  was  pretty-like,  his  hair 
curled  over  his  head  just  like  a  girl's." 

Eugenie  gazed  at  Nanon. 

"  Holy  Virgin  !  mademoiselle,  with  such  eyes,  you  are  like 
to  lose  your  soul.     You  shouldn't  look  at  people  in  that  way." 

From  that  day  Mile.  Grandet's  beauty  took  a  new  character. 
The  grave  thoughts  of  love  that  slowly  enveloped  her  soul,  the 
dignity  of  a  woman  who  is  beloved,  gave  to  her  face  the  sort 
of  radiance  that  early  painters  expressed  by  the  aureole.  Be- 
fore her  cousin  came  into  her  life,  Eugenie  might  have  been 
compared  to  the  Virgin  as  yet  unconscious  of  her  destiny; 
and  now  that  he  had  passed  out  of  it,  she  seemed  like  the  Vir- 
gin Mother ;  she,  too,  bore  love  in  her  heart.  Spanish  art 
has  depicted  these  two  Marys,  so  different  one  from  the  other 
— Christianity,  with  its  many  symbols,  knows  no  more  glorious 
types  than  these. 

The  day  after  Charles  had  left  them,  Eugenie  went  to  mass 
(as  she  had  resolved  to  do  daily),  and  on  her  way  back  bought 
a  map  of  the  world  from  the  only  bookseller  in  the  town.  This 
she  pinned  to  the  wall  beside  her  glass,  so  that  she  might  fol- 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  150 

low  the  course  of  her  cousin's  voyage  to  the  Indies;  and  night 
and  morning  might  be  beside  him  for  a  little  while  on  that 
far-off  vessel,  and  see  him  and  ask  all  the  endless  questions  she 
longed  to  ask. 

"  Are  you  well  ?  Are  you  not  sad  ?  Am  I  in  your  thoughts 
when  you  see  the  star  that  you  told  me  about  ?  You  made  me 
see  how  beautiful  it  was." 

In  the  morning  she  used  to  sit  like  one  in  a  dream  under 
the  great  walnut  tree,  on  the  old  gray,  lichen-covered,  worm- 
eaten  bench  where  they  had  talked  so  kindly  and  so  foolishly, 
where  they  had  built  such  fair  castles  in  the  air  in  which  to 
live.  She  thought  of  the  future  as  she  watched  the  little  strip 
of  sky  shut  in  by  the  high  walls  on  every  side,  then  her  eyes 
wandered  over  the  old  buttressed  wall  and  the  roof — Charles' 
room  lay  beneath  it.  In  short,  this  solitary  persistent  love 
mingling  with  all  her  thoughts  became  the  substance,  or,  as 
our  forefathers  would  have  said,  the  "  staff"  of  her  life. 

If  Grandet's  self-styled  friends  came  in  of  an  evening,  she 
would  seem  to  be  in  high  spirits,  but  the  liveliness  was  only 
assumed  ;  she  used  to  talk  about  Charles  with  her  mother  and 
Nanon  the  whole  morning  through,  and  Nanon — who  was  of 
the  opinion  that  without  faltering  in  her  duty  to  her  master 
she  might  yet  feel  for  her  young  mistress'  troubles — Nanon 
spoke  on  this  wise — 

"  If  I  had  had  a  sweetheart,  I  would  have 1  would  have 

gone  with  him  to  hell.     I  would  have well,  then,  I  would 

just  have  laid  down  ray  life  for  him,  but no  such  chance  ! 

I  shall  die  without  knowing  what  it  is  to  love.  Would  you 
believe  it,  mamselle,  there  is  that  old  Cornoiller,  who  is  a 
good  man  all  the  same,  dangling  about  after  my  savings,  just 
like  the  others  who  come  here  paying  court  to  you  and  sniffing 
after  the  master's  money.  I  see  through  it  \  I  may  be  as  big 
as  a  haystack,  but  I  am  as  sharp  as  a  needle  yet.  Well !  and 
yet  do  you  know,  mamselle,  it  may  not  be  love,  but  I  rather 
iike  it." 


160  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

t 

In  this  way  two  months  went  by.  The  secret  that  bound 
the  three  women  so  closely  together  had  brought  a  new 
interest  into  the  household  life  hitherto  so  monotonous.  For 
them  Charles  still  dwelt  in  the  house,  and  came  and  went  be- 
neath the  old  gray  rafters  of  the  parlor.  Every  morning  and 
evening  Eugenie  opened  the  dressing-case  and  looked  at  her 
aunt's  portrait.  Her  mother,  suddenly  coming  into  her  room 
one  Sunday  morning,  found  her  absorbed  in  tracing  out  a 
likeness  to  Charles  in  the  lady  of  the  miniature,  and  Mme. 
Grandet  learned  for  the  first  time  a  terrible  secret,  how  that 
Eugdnie  had  parted  with  her  treasures  and  had  taken  the  case 
in  exchange. 

"  You  have  let  him  have  it  all !  "  cried  the  terrified  mother. 
"  What  will  you  say  to  your  father  on  New  Year's  Day  when 
he  asks  to  see  your  gold  ?  '^ 

Eugenie's  eyes  were  set  in  a  fixed  stare;  the  horror  of  this 
thought  so  filled  the  women  that  half  the  morning  went  by, 
and  they  were  distressed  to  find  themselves  too  late  for  high 
mass,  and  were  only  in  time  for  the  military  mass.  The  year 
1819  was  almost  over;  there  were  only  three  more  days  left. 
In  three  days  a  terrible  drama  would  begin,  a  drama  undigni- 
fied by  poison,  dagger,  or  bloodshed,  but  fate  dealt  scarcely 
more  cruelly  with  the  princely  house  of  Atreus  than  with  the 
actors  in  this  bourgeois  tragedy. 

"What  is  to  become  of  us?"  said  Mme.  Grandet,  laying 
down  her  knitting  on  her  knee. 

Poor  mother !  all  the  events  of  the  past  two  months  had 
sadly  hindered  the  knitting,  the  woolen  cuffs  for  winter  wear 
were  not  finished  yet,  a  homely  and  apparently  insignificant 
fact  which  was  to  work  trouble  enough  for  her.  For  want  of 
the  warm  cuffs  she  caught  a  chill  after  a  violent  perspiration 
brought  on  by  one  of  her  husband's  fearful  outbursts  of  rage. 

"  My  poor  child,  I  have  been  thinking  that  if  you  had  only 
told  me  about  this,  we  should  have  had  time  to  write  to  M. 
des  Grassins  in  Paris.     He  might  have  managed  to  send  us 


EUGENIE   GRANDET,  161 

some  gold-pieces  like  those  of  yours ;  and  although  Grandet 

knows  the  look  of  them  so  well,  still  perhaps " 

"But  where  could  we  have  found  so  much  money?" 

"I  would  have  raised  it  on  my  property.     Besides,  M.  des 

Grassins  would  have  befriended  us " 

"There  is  not  time  enough  now,"  faltered  Eugenie  in  a 
smothered  voice.  "  To-morrow  morning  we  shall  have  to  go 
to  his  room  to  wish  him  a  happy  New  Year,  shall  we  not  ?  " 
"Oh  !  Eugenie,  why  not  go  and  see  the  Cruchots  about  it?  " 
"  No,  no,  that  would  be  putting  ourselves  in  their  power ; 
I  should  be  entirely  in  their  hands  then.  Besides,  I  have 
made  up  my  mind.  I  have  acted  quite  rightly,  and  I  repent 
of  nothing  ;  God  will  protect  me.  May  His  holy  will  be  done ! 
Ah  !  if  you  had  read  that  letter,  mother,  you  would  have 
thought  of  nothing  but  him." 

The  next  morning,  January  i,  1820,  the  mother  and 
daughter  were  in  an  agony  of  distress  that  they  could  not 
hide ;  sheer  terror  suggested  the  simple  expedient  of  omitting 
the  solemn  visit  to  Grandet's  room.  The  bitter  weather 
served  as  an  excuse;  the  winter  of  1819-20  was  the  coldest 
that  had  been  known  for  years,  and  snow  lay  deep  on  the  roofs. 

Mme.  Grandet  called  to  her  husband  as  soon  as  she  heard 
him  stirring,  "  Grandet,  just  let  Nanon  light  a  bit  of  fire  in 
here  for  me,  the  air  is  so  sharp  that  I  am  shivering  under  the 
bedclothes,  and  at  my  time  of  life  I  must  take  care  of  myself. 
And  then,"  she  went  on  after  a  little  pause,  "Eugenie  shall 
come  in  here  to  dress.  The  poor  girl  may  do  herself  a  mis- 
chief if  she  dresses  in  her  own  room  in  such  cold.  We  will 
come  downstairs  into  the  sitting-room  and  wish  you  a  happy 
New  Year  there  by  the  fire." 

"  Tut,  tut,  tut,  what  a  tongue  !     What  a  way  to  begin  the 
year,  Mme.  Grandet !     You  have  never  said  so  much  in  your 
life  before.     You  have  not  had  a  sop  of  bread  in  wine,  I  sup- 
pose ? ' ' 
11 


162  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Doubtless  his  wife's  pro- 
posal suited  his  notions,  for  he  said,  "  Very  well,  I  will  do  as 
you  wish,  Mme.  Grandet.  You  really  are  a  good  sort  of 
woman,  it  would  be  a  pity  for  you  to  expire  before  you  are 
due,  though,  as  a  rule,  the  La  Bertellieres  make  old  bones, 
don't  they,  hey?"  he  cried,  after  a  pause.  "Well,  their 
money  has  fallen  in  at  last  ',  I  forgive  them,"  and  he  coughed. 

"  You  are  in  spirits  this  morning,"  said  the  poor  wife. 

"  I  always  am  in  spirits." 

Hey !  hey  !  cooper  gay, 

Mend  your  tub  and  take  your  pay. 

He  had  quite  finished  dressing,  and  came  into  his  wife's 
room.  "Yes,  nom  (Tun  petit  bon-homme !  it  is  a  mighty 
hard  frost,  all  the  same'.  We  shall  have  a  good  breakfast 
to-day,  wife.  Des  Grassins  has  sent  me  a  pate  de  foies  gras, 
truffled  !  I  am  going  round  to  the  coach  office  to  see  after  it. 
He  should  have  sent  a  double  napoleon  for  Eugdnie  along 
with  it,"  said  the  cooper,  coming  closer,  and  lowering  his 
voice.  "  I  have  no  gold,  I  certainly  had  a  few  old  coins  still 
left,  I  may  tell  you  that  in  confidence,  but  I  had  to  let  them 
go  in  the  course  of  business,"  and  by  way  of  celebrating  the 
first  day  of  the  year  he  kissed  his  wife  on  the  forehead. 

"Eug6nie,"  cried  the  kind  mother,  as  soon  as  Grandet 
had  gone,  "  I  don't  know  which  side  of  the  bed  your  father 
got  out  on,  but  he  is  in  a  good  humor  this  morning.  Pshaw  ! 
we  shall  pull  through." 

**  What  can  have  come  over  the  master  ?  ' '  cried  Nanon  as 
she  came  into  the  room  to  light  the  fire.  "  First  of  all,  he 
says,  *  Good-morning,  great  stupid,  a  happy  New  Year ! 
Go  upstairs  and  light  a  fire  in  my  wife's  room  ;  she  is  feeling 
cold.'  I  thought  I  must  be  off  my  head  when  I  saw  him  hold- 
ing out  his  hand  with  a  six-franc  piece  in  it  that  hadn't  been 
clipped  a  bit !  There  !  madame,  only  look  at  it !  Oh  !  he 
is  a  worthy  man,  all  the  same — ^he  is  a  good  man,  he  is. 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  163 

There  are  some  as  get  harder-hearted  the  older  they  grow ; 
but   he   turns  sweeter,  like   your  cordial  that  improves  with 

keeping.     He  is  a  very  good  and  a  very  excellent  man " 

Grandet's  speculation  had  been  completely  successful  \  this 
was  the  cause  of  his  high  spirits.  M.  des  Grassins — after 
deducting  various  amounts  which  the  cooper  owed  him,  partly 
for  discounting  Dutch  bills  to  the  amount  of  a  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  francs,  and  partly  for  advances  of  money  for 
the  purchase  of  a  hundred  thousand  livres  worth  of  consols — 
M.  des  Grassins  was  sending  him,  by  diligence,  thirty  thou- 
sand francs  in  crowns,  the  remainder  (after  the  aforesaid 
deductions  had  been  made)  of  the  cooper's  half-yearly  divi- 
dends, and  informed  Grandet  that  consols  were  steadily  rising. 
They  stood  at  eighty-nine  at  the  present  moment,  and  well- 
known  capitalists  were  buying  for  the  next  account  at  the  end 
of  January  at  ninety-two.  In  two  months  Grandet  had 
made  twelve  per  cent,  on  his  capital ;  he  had  straightened  his 
accounts ;  and  henceforward  he  would  receive  fifty  thousand 
francs  every  half-year,  clear  of  taxes  or  any  outgoing  ex- 
penses. In  short,  he  had  grasped  the  theory  of  consols  (a 
class  of  investment  of  which  the  provincial  mind  is  exceed- 
ingly shy),  and,  looking  ahead,  he  beheld  himself  the  master 
of  six  millions  of  francs  in  five  years'  time — six  millions, 
which  would  go  on  accumulating  with  scarcely  any  trouble  on 
his  part — six  millions  of  francs  !  And  there  was  the  value  of 
his  landed  property  to  add  to  this ;  he  saw  himself  in  a  fair 
way  to  build  up  a  colossal  fortune.  The  six  francs  given  to 
Nanon  were  perhaps  in  reality  the  payment  for  an  immense 
service  which  the  girl  had  unwittingly  done  her  master. 

**Oho!  what  can  M.  Grandet  be  after?  He  is  running 
as  if  there  were  a  fire  somewhere,"  the  shopkeepers  said  to 
each  other  as  they  took  down  their  shutters  that  New  Year's 
morning. 

A  little  later  when  they  saw  him  coming  back  from  the 


164  EUG&NIE   GRANDET. 

quay  followed  by  a  porter  from  the  coach  office,  who  was 
wheeling  a  barrow  piled  up  with  little  bags  full  of  some- 
thing  

**  Ah  !  "  said  they,  "water  always  makes  for  the  river,  the 
old  boy  was  hurrying  after  his  crowns." 

"  They  flow  in  on  him  from  Paris,  and  Froidfond,  and  Hol- 
land," said  one. 

**  He  will  buy  Saumur  before  he  has  done,"  cried 
another. 

"  He  does  not  care  a  rap  for  the  cold ;  he  is  always  looking 
after  his  business,"  said  a  woman  to  her  husband. 

"  Hi  !  M.  Grandet !  if  you  have  more  of  that  than  you 
know  what  to  do  with,  I  can  help  you  to  get  rid  of  some 
of  it." 

"  Eh  !  they  are  only  coppers,"  said  the  vine-grower. 

**  Silver,  he  means,"  said  the  porter  in  a  low  voice. 

*'  Keep  a  still  tongue  in  your  head,  if  you  want  me  to 
bear  you  in  mind,"  said  M.  Grandet  as  he  opened  the 
door. 

"Oh  !  the  old  fox,  I  thought  he  was  deaf,"  said  the  porter 
to  himself,  "  but  it  looks  as  though  he  could  hear  well  enough 
in  cold  weather." 

"  Here  is  a  franc  for  a  New  Year's  gift,  and  keep  quiet 
about  this.  Off  with  you !  Nanon  will  bring  back  the 
barrow.  Nanon  !  "  cried  Grandet,  "are  the  women-folk  gone 
to  mass?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Come,  look  sharp,  and  lend  a  hand  here,  then,"  he  cried, 
and  loaded  her  with  the  bags.  In  another  minute  the  crowns 
were  safely  transferred  to  his  room,  where  he  locked  himself  in. 

"  Thump  on  the  wall  when  breakfast  is  ready,"  he  called 
through  the  door,  and  take  the  wheelbarrow  back  to  the  coach 
office." 

It  was  ten  o'clock  before  the  family  breakfasted. 

"Your  father  will  not  ask  to  see  your  gold  now,"  said 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  165 

Mme.  Grandet  as  they  came  back  from  mass ;  and  if  he  does, 
you  can  shiver  and  say  it  is  too  cold  to  go  up  stairs  for  it.  We 
sliall  have  time  to  make  up  the  money  again  before  your 
birthday " 

Grandet  came  down  the  stairs  with  his  head  full  of  schemes 
for  transforming  the  five-franc  pieces  just  received  from  Paris 
into  gold  coin,  which  should  be  neither  clipped  nor  light 
weight.  He  thought  of  his  admirably  timed  investment  in 
government  stock,  and  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  con- 
tinue to  put  his  money  into  consols  until  they  rose  to  a  hun- 
dred francs.  Such  meditations  as  these  boded  ill  for  Eugenie. 
As  soon  as  he  came  in  the  two  women  wished  him  a  prosperous 
New  Year,  each  in  her  own  way ;  Mme.  Grandet  was  grave 
and  ceremonious,  but  his  daughter  put  her  arms  round  his 
neck  and  kissed  him.  "Aha!  child,"  he  said,  kissing  her 
on  both  cheeks,  "I  am  thinking  and  working  for  you,  you 

see  ! 1  want  you  to  be  happy,  and  if  you  are  to  be  happy, 

you  must  have  money;  for  you  won't  get  anything  without 
it.  Look !  here  is  a  brand  new  napoleon,  I  sent  to  Paris  on 
purpose  for  it.  Nom  (Tun  petit  bon-homme  !  there  is  not  a 
speck  of  gold  in  the  house,  except  yours,  you  are  the  one  who 
has  the  gold.     Let  me  see  your  gold,  little  girl." 

"Bah!"  it  is  too  cold,  let  us  have  breakfast,"  Eugenie 
answered. 

"Well,  then,  after  breakfast  we  will  have  a  look  at  it,  eh? 
It  will  be  good  for  our  digestions.  That  great  des  Grassins 
sent  us  this,  all  the  same,"  he  went  on,  "so  get  your  break- 
fast, children,  for  it  costs  us  nothing.  Des  Grassins  is  going 
on  nicely ;  I  am  pleased  with  him ;  the  old  fish  is  doing 
Charles  a  service,  and  all  free  gratis.  Really,  he  is  managing 
poor  dear  Grandet's  affairs  very  cleverly.  Ououh  I  ououh  !  " 
he  cried,  with  his  mouth  full,  "  this  is  good  !  Eat  away,  wife, 
there  is  enough  here  to  last  us  for  two  days  at  least." 

"  I  am  not  hungry.  I  am  very  poorly,  you  know  that  very 
well." 


166  EUGENIE   GRAND ET. 

"  Oh  !  Ah !  but  you  have  a  sound  constitution  ;  you  are  a 
La  Bertelliere,  and  you  can  put  away  a  great  deal  without  any 
fear  of  damaging  yourself.  You  may  be  a  trifle  sallow,  but  I 
have  a  liking  for  yellow  myself." 

The  prisoner  shrinking  from  a  public  and  ignominious 
death  could  not  well  await  his  doom  with  a  more  sickening 
dread  than  Mme.  Grandet  and  Eugenie  felt  as  they  foresaw 
the  end  of  breakfast  and  the  inevitable  sequel.  The  more 
boisterously  the  cooper  talked  and  ate,  the  lower  sank  their 
spirits ;  but  to  the  girl,  in  this  crisis,  a  certain  support  was 
not  lacking,  love  was  strong  within  her.  *'  I  would  die  a 
thousand  deaths,"  she  thought,  *'  for  him,  for  him  !  " 

She  looked  at  her  mother,  and  courage  and  defiance  shone 
in  her  eyes. 

By  eleven  o'clock  they  had  finished  breakfast.  "  Clear 
everything  away,"  Grandet  told  Nanon,  "but  leave  us  the 
table.  We  can  look  over  your  little  treasure  more  comfortably 
so,"  he  said  with  his  eyes  on  Eugenie.  "  Little,  said  I  ?  'Tis 
not  so  small,  though,  upon  my  word.  Your  coins  altogether 
are  actually  worth  five  thousand  nine  hundred  and  fifty-nine 
francs,  then  with  forty  more  this  morning,  that  makes  six 
thousand  francs  all  but  one.     Well,  I  will  give  you  another 

franc  to  make  up  the  sum,  because,  you  see,  little  girl 

Well !  now,  why  are  you  listening  to  us  !  Just  take  yourself 
off,  Nanon,  and  set  about  your  work  !  " 

Nanon  vanished. 

**  Listen,  Eugenie,  you  must  let  me  have  your  gold.  You 
will  not  refuse  to  let  your  papa  have  it  ?   Eh,  little  daughter?" 

Neither  of  the  women  spoke. 

"  I  myself  have  no  gold  left.  I  had  some  once,  but  I  have 
none  now.  I  will  give  you  six  thousand  francs  in  silver  for 
it,  and  you  shall  invest  it ;  I  will  show  you  how.  There  is 
really  no  need  to  think  of  a  dozen.  When  you  are  married 
(which  will  be  before  very  long)  I  will  find  a  husband  for  you 
who  will  give  you  the  handsomest  dozen  that  has  ever  been 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  167 

heard  of  hereabouts.  There  is  a  splendid  opportunity  just 
now  ;  you  can  invest  your  six  thousand  francs  in  government 
stock,  and  every  six  months,  when  dividends  are  due,  you 
will  have  about  two  hundred  francs  coming  in,  all  clear  of 
taxes,  and  no  repairs  to  pay  for,  and  no  frosts  nor  hail  nor 
bad  seasons,  none  of  all  the  tiresome  drawbacks  you  have  to 
lay  your  account  with  if  you  put  your  money  into  land.  You 
don't  like  to  part  with  your  gold,  eh  ?  Is  that  it,  little  girl  ? 
Never  mind,  let  me  have  it  all  the  same.  I  will  look  out  for 
gold  coins  for  you,  ducats  from  Holland,  and  genovines  and 
Portuguese  moidores  and  rupees,  the  Mogul's  rupees ;  and 
what  with  the  coins  I  shall  give  you  on  your  birthday  and  so 
forth,  you  will  have  half  your  little  hoard  again  in  three  years 
time,  beside  the  six  thousand  francs  in  the  funds.  What  do 
you  say,  little  girl  ?  Look  up,  child  !  There  !  there  !  bring 
it  here,  my  pet.  You  owe  me  a  good  kiss  for  telling  you 
business  secrets  and  mysteries  of  the  life  and  death  of  five-franc 
pieces.  Five-franc  pieces !  Yes,  indeed,  the  coins  live  and 
gad  about  just  like  men  do  ;  they  go  and  come  and  sweat  and 
multiply." 

Eugenie  rose  and  made  a  few  steps  towards  the  door ;  then 
she  turned  abruptly,  looked  her  father  full  in  the  face,  and  said — 

**  All  my  gold  is  gone;  I  have  none  left." 

'*  All  your  gold  is  gone  !  "  echoed  Grandet,  starting  up,  as 
a  horse  might  rear  when  the  cannon  thunders  not  ten  paces 
from  him. 

"  Yes,  it  is  all  gone." 

"  Eugenie  !  you  are  dreaming  !  " 

"No." 

"  By  my  father's  pruning-hook  !  "  Whenever  the  cooper 
swore  in  this  fashion,  the  floors  and  ceilings  trembled. 

"Lord  have  mercy!"  cried  Nanon ;  "how  white  the 
mistress  is  !  " 

•'  Grandet !  you  will  kill  me  with  your  angry  fits,"  said  the 
poor  wife. 


168  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

"Tut,  tut,  tut;  none  of  your  family  ever  die.  Now, 
Eugenie  !  what  have  you  done  with  your  money  ?  "  he  burst 
out  as  he  turned  upon  her. 

The  girl  was  on  her  knees  beside  Mme.  Grandet. 

"  Look  !  sir,"  she  said,  "  my  mother  is  very  ill do  not 

kill  her." 

Grandet  was  alarmed  ;  his  wife's  dark,  sallow  complexion 
had  grown  so  white. 

'^  Nan  on,  come  and  help  me  up  to  bed,"  she  said  in  a 
feeble  voice.     '*  This  is  killing  me " 

Nanon  gave  an  arm  to  her  mistress,  and  Eugenie  supported 
her  on  the  other  side;  but  it  was  only  with  the  greatest  diffi- 
culty that  they  reached  her  room,  for  the  poor  mother's 
strength  completely  failed  her,  and  she  stumbled  at  every 
step.  Grandet  was  left  alone  in  the  parlor.  After  a  while, 
however,  he  came  part  of  the  way  upstairs,  and  called  out — 

"  Eugenie  !  Come  down  again  as  soon  as  your  mother  is 
in  bed." 

"Yes,  father." 

In  no  long  time  she  returned  to  him,  after  comforting  her 
mother  as  best  she  could. 

"Now,  my  daughter,"  Grandet  addressed  her,  "  you  will 
tell  me  where  your  money  is." 

"If  I  am  not  perfectly  free  to  do  as  I  like  with  your 
presents,  father,  please  take  them  back  again,"  said  Eugenie 
coldly.  She  went  to  the  chimney-piece  for  the  napoleon,  and 
gave  it  to  her  father. 

Grandet  pounced  upon  it,  and  slipped  it  into  his  waistcoat 
pocket. 

"I  will  never  give  you  anything  again,  I  know,"  he  said, 
pointing  his  thumb  at  her.  "You  look  down  on  your  father,  do 
you  ?  You  have  no  confidence  in  him  ?  Do  you  know  what 
a  father  is  ?  If  he  is  not  everything  to  you,  he  is  nothing. 
Now  ;  where  is  your  gold  ?  " 

"  I  do  respect  you  and  love  you,  father,  in  spite  of  your 


EUGENIE    GRANDE T.  169 

anger  j  but  I  would  very  humbly  point  out  to  you  that  I  am 
twenty-one  years  old.  You  have  told  me  that  I  am  of  age 
often  enough  for  me  to  know  it.  I  have  done  as  I  liked  with 
my  money,  and  rest  assured  that  it  is  in  good  hands " 

"Whose?" 

"That  is  an  inviolable  secret,"  she  said.  "  Have  you  not 
your  secrets?  " 

"  Am  I  not  the  head  of  my  family  ?  May  I  not  be  allowed 
to  have  my  own  business  affairs  ?  ' ' 

"  This  is  my  own  affair." 

**  It  must  be  something  very  unsatisfactory,  Mile.  Grandet, 
if  you  cannot  tell  your  own  father  about  it." 

"It  is  perfectly  satisfactory,  and  I  cannot  tell  my  father 
about  it." 

"Tell  me,  at  any  rate,  when  you  parted  with  your  gold." 

Eugenie  shook  her  head. 

"  You  still  had  it  on  your  birthday,  hadn't  you,  eh  ?  " 

But  if  greed  had  made  her  father  crafty,  love  had  taught 
Eugenie  to  be  wary ;  she  shook  her  head  again. 

"  Did  any  one  ever  hear  of  such  obstinacy,  or  of  such  a 
robbery  ?  "  cried  Grandet,  in  a  voice  which  gradually  rose  till 
it  rang  through  the  house.  "  What !  here,  in  my  house,  in 
my  own  house,  some  one  has  taken  your  gold  !  Taken  all  the 
gold  that  there  was  in  the  place  !  And  I  am  not  to  know  who 
it  was?  Gold  is  a  precious  thing.  The  best  of  girls  go 
wrong  and  throw  themselves  away  one  way  or  another ;  that 
happens  among  great  folk,  and  even  among  decent  citizens ; 
but  think  of  throwing  gold  away  !  For  you  gave  it  to  some- 
body, I  suppose,  eh?  " 

Eugenie  gave  no  sign. 

"  Did  any  one  ever  see  such  a  daughter  !  Can  you  be  a 
child  of  mine?  If  you  have  parted  with  your  money,  you 
must  have  a  receipt  for  it " 

"  Was  I  free  to  do  as  I  wished  with  it — Yes  or  no?  Was  it 
mine?" 


170  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

"Why,  you  are  a  child." 

"I  am  of  age." 

At  first  Grandet  was  struck  dumb  by  his  daughter  daring  to 
argue  with  him,  and  in  this  way  !  He  turned  pale,  stamped, 
swore,  and  finding  words  at  last,  he  shouted — 

*'  Accursed  serpent !  Miserable  girl !  Oh  !  you  know  well 
that  I  love  you,  and  you  take  advantage  of  it !  You  ungrateful 
child  !  She  would  rob  and  murder  her  own  father  !  Pardieu  / 
you  would  have  thrown  all  we  have  at  the  feet  of  that  vaga- 
bond with  the  morocco  boots.  By  my  father's  pruning-hook, 
I  cannot  disinherit  you,  but  nom  (Tun  tonneau,  I  can  curse  you ; 
you  and  your  cousin  and  your  children.     Nothing  good  can 

come  out  of  this  ;  do  you  hear  ?     If  it  was  to  Charles  that 

But,  no,  that  is  impossible.  What  if  that  miserable  puppy 
should  have  robbed  me  ?  " 

He  glared  at  his  daughter,  who  was  still  silent  and  unmoved. 

"  She  does  not  stir !  She  does  not  flinch  !  She  is  more  of 
a  Grandet  than  I  am.  You  did  not  give  your  gold  away  for 
nothing,  anyhow.     Come,  now;  tell  me  about  it?" 

Eugenie  looked  up  at  her  father;  her  satirical  glance  exas- 
perated him. 

"  Eugenie,  this  is  my  house ;  so  long  as  you  are  under  your 
father's  roof  you  must  do  as  your  father  bids  you.  The  priests 
command  you  to  obey  me." 

Eugenie  bent  her  head  again. 

"  You  are  wounding  all  my  tenderest  feelings,"  he  went  on. 
**  Get  out  of  my  sight  until  you  are  ready  to  obey  me.  Go 
to  your  room  and  stay  there  until  I  give  you  leave  to  come 
out  of  it.  Nanon  will  bring  you  bread  and  water.  Do  you 
hear  what  I  say?     Go  !  " 

Eugenie  burst  into  tears,  and  fled  away  to  her  mother. 
Grandet  took  several  turns  in  his  garden  without  heeding  the 
snow  or  the  cold;  then,  suspecting  that  his  daughter  would 
be  in  his  wife's  room,  and  delighted  with  the  idea  of  catching 
them  in  flagrant  disobedience  to  orders,  he  climbed  the  stairs 


"do   you  hear  what   :   say?    Cor 


EUGBNIE   GRANDET.  171 

as  stealthy  as  a  cat,  and  suddenly  appeared  in  Mrae.  Grandet's 
room.  He  was  right ;  she  was  stroking  Eugenie's  hair,  and 
the  girl  lay  with  her  face  hidden  in  her  mother's  breast. 

*'  Poor  child  !     Never  mind,  your  father  will  relent." 

"She  has  no  longer  a  father  !"  said  the  cooper.  "Is  it 
really  possible,  Mme.  Grandet,  that  we  have  brought  such  a 
disobedient  daughter  into  the  world  ?  A  pretty  bringing  up  j 
and  pious,  too,  above  all  things  !  Well !  how  is  it  you  are  not 
in  your  room  ?    Come,  off  to  prison  with  you ;  to  prison,  miss." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  take  my  daughter  away  from  me,  sir?  " 
said  Mme.  Grandet,  as  she  raised  a  flushed  face  and  bright, 
feverish  eyes. 

"If  you  want  to  keep  her,  take  her  along  with  you,  and 

the  house  will   be  rid  of  you  both   at  once Tonnerre ! 

Where  is  the  gold  ?    What  has  become  of  the  gold  ?  " 

Eugdnie  rose  to  her  feet,  looked  proudly  at  her  father,  and 
went  into  her  room ;  he  turned  the  key  in  the  door. 

"  Nanon  !  "  he  shouted,  "  you  can  rake  out  the  fire  in  the 
parlor ;  then  he  came  back  and  sat  down  in  an  easy-chair  that 
stood  between  the  fire  and  his  wife's  bedside,  saying  as  he  did 
so,  "  Of  course  she  gave  her  gold  to  that  miserable  seducer, 
Charles,  who  only  cared  for  our  money." 

Mme.  Grandet's  love  for  her  daughter  gave  her  courage  in 
the  face  of  this  danger ;  to  all  appearance  she  was  deaf, 
dumb,  and  blind  to  all  that  was  implied  by  this  speech. 
She  turned  on  her  bed  so  as  to  avoid  the  angry  glitter  of  her 
husband's  eyes. 

"I  knew  nothing  about  all  this,"  she  said.  "Your  anger 
makes  me  so  ill,  that  if  my  forebodings  come  true  I  shall  only 
leave  this  room  when  they  carry  me  out  feet  foremost.  I 
think  you  might  have  spared  me  this  scene,  sir.  I,  at  all 
events,  have  never  caused  you  any  vexation.  Your  daughter 
loves  you,  and  I  am  sure  she  is  as  innocent  as  a  newborn 
babe  ;  so  do  not  make  her  miserable,  and  take  back  your  word. 
This  cold  is  terribly  sharp ;  it  might  make  her  seriously  ill." 


172  EUGENIE    GRANDET. 

"  I  shall  neither  see  her  nor  speak  to  her.  She  shall  stop 
in  her  room  on  bread  and  water  until  she  has  done  as  her 
father  bids  her.  What  the  devil !  the  head  of  a  family  ought 
to  know  when  gold  goes  out  of  his  house,  and  where  it 
goes.  She  had  the  only  rupees  that  there  are  in  France, 
for  aught  I  know ;  then  there  were  genovines  besides,  and 
Dutch  ducats " 

"  Eugenie  is  our  only  child,  and  even  if  she  had  flung  them 
into  the  water " 

*'  Into  the  water  !  "  shouted  the  worthy  cooper.  "  Info  the 
water  !  Mme.  Grandet,  you  are  raving  !  When  I  say  a  thing 
I  mean  it,  as  you  well  know.  If  you  want  to  have  peace  in  the 
house,  get  her  to  confess  to  you,  and  worm  this  secret  out  of  her. 
Women  understand  each  other,  and  are  cleverer  at  this  sort 
of  thing  than  we  are.  Whatever  she  may  have  done,  I  cer- 
tainly shall  not  eat  her.  Is  she  afraid  of  me  ?  If  she  had 
covered  her  cousin  with  gold  from  head  to  foot,  he  is  safe  on 
the  high-seas  by  this  time,  hein !  We  cannot  run  after 
him " 

**  Really,  sir "  his  wife  began. 

But  Mme.  Grande t's  nature  had  developed  during  her 
daughter's  trouble  ;  she  felt  more  keenly,  and  perhaps  her 
thoughts  moved  more  quickly,  or  it  may  be  that  excitement 
and  the  strain  upon  her  overwrought  nerves  had  sharpened 
her  mental  faculties.  She  saw  the  wen  on  her  husband's 
face  twitch  ominously  even  as  she  began  to  speak,  and 
changed  her  purpose  without  changing  her  voice. 

"  Really,  sir,  have  I  any  more  authority  over  her  than  you 
have  ?  She  has  never  said  a  word  about  it  to  me.  She  takes 
after  you." 

"Goodness  !  your  tongue  is  hung  in  the  middle  this  morn- 
ing !  Tut,  tut,  tut ;  you  are  going  to  fly  in  my  face,  I  sup- 
pose?    Perhaps  you  and  she  are  both  in  it." 

He  glared  at  his  wife. 

*'  Really,  M.  Grandet,  if  you  want  to  kill  me,  you  have 


EUG&NIE   GRANDET.  178 

only  to  keep  on  as  you  are  doing.  I  tell  you,  sir,  and  if  it  were 
to  cost  me  my  life,  I  would  say  it  again — you  are  too  hard  on 
your  daughter;  she  is  a  great  deal  more  sensible  than  you 
are.  The  money  belonged  to  her ;  she  could  only  have  made 
a  good  use  of  it,  and  our  good  works  ought  to  be  known  to 
God  alone.  Sir,  I  implore  you,  take  Eugenie  back  into  favor. 
It  will  lessen  the  effect  of  the  shock  your  anger  gave  me,  and 
perhaps  will  save  my  life.  My  daughter,  sir ;  give  me  back 
my  daughter  !  " 

" I  am  off,"  he  said.     "It  is  unbearable  here  in  my  house, 

when  a  mother  and  daughter  talk  and  argue  as  if Brooouh ! 

Pouah  !  You  have  given  me  bitter  New  Year's  gifts,  Eugenie  !" 
he  called.  "  Yes,  yes,  cry  away  !  You  shall  repent  it,  do  you 
hear  ?  What  is  the  good  of  taking  the  sacrament  six  times  a 
quarter  if  you  give  your  father's  gold  away  on  the  sly  to  an 
idle  rascal  who  will  break  your  heart  when  you  have  nothing 
else  left  to  give  him  ?  You  will  find  out  what  he  is,  that 
Charles  of  yours,  with  his  morocco  boots  and  his  stand-off 
airs.  He  can  have  no  heart  and  no  conscience  either,  when 
he  dares  to  carry  off  a  poor  girl's  money  without  the  consent 
of  her  parents." 

As  soon  as  the  street-door  was  shut,  Eugenie  stole  out  of 
her  room  and  came  to  her  mother's  bedside. 

'•'You  were  very  brave  for  your  daughter's  sake,"  she  said. 

**  You  see  where  crooked  ways  lead  us,  child ! You  have 

made  me  tell  a  lie." 

"  Oh !  mother,  I  will  pray  to  God  to  let  all  the  punish- 
ment fall  on  me." 

"Is  it  true?"  asked  Nanon,  coming  upstairs  in  dismay, 
"  that  mademoiselle  here  is  to  be  put  on  bread  and  water  for 
the  rest  of  her  life?  " 

"  What  does  it  matter,  Nanon?"  asked  Eugenie  calmly. 

*'  Why,  before  I  would  eat  *  kitchen  '  while  the  daughter 

of  the  house  is  eating  dry  bread,  I  would no,  no,  it  won't 

do." 


174  EUG&NIE   GRANDET. 

"  Don't  say  a  word  about  it,  Nanon,"  Eugenie  warned  her. 

"  It  would  stick  in  my  throat ;  but  you  shall  see." 

Grandet  dined  alone,  for  the  first  time  in  twenty- four 
years. 

"So  you  are  a  widower,  sir,"  said  Nanon.  "  It  is  a  very 
dismal  thing  to  be  a  widower  when  you  have  a  wife  and 
daughter  in  the  house." 

"  I  did  not  speak  to  you,  did  I  ?  Keep  a  still  tongue  in 
your  head,  or  you  will  have  to  go.  What  have  you  in  that 
saucepan  that  I  can  hear  boiling  away  on  the  stove?  " 

**  Some  dripping  that  I  am  melting  down " 

"  There  will  be  some  people  here  this  evening ;  light  the 
fire." 

The  Cruchots  and  their  friends,  Mme.  des  Grassins  and  her 
son,  all  came  in  about  eight  o'clock,  and  to  their  amazement 
saw  neither  Mme.  Grandet  nor  her  daughter. 

**  My  wife  is  not  very  well  to-day,  and  Eugenie  is  upstairs 
with  her,"  replied  the  old  cooper,  without  a  trace  of  perturba- 
tion on  his  face. 

After  an  hour  spent,  in  more  or  less  trivial  talk,  Mme.  des 
Grassins,  who  had  gone  upstairs  to  see  Mme.  Grandet,  came 
down  again  to  the  dining-room,  and  was  met  with  a  general 
inquiry  of  "  How  is  Mme.  Grandet  ?  " 

**  She  is  very  far  from  well,"  the  lady  said  gravely.  "  Her 
health  seems  to  me  to  be  in  a  very  precarious  state.  At  her 
time  of  life  you  ought  to  take  great  care  of  her,  papa 
Grandet." 

"  We  shall  see,"  said  the  vine-grower  abstractedly,  and  the 
whole  party  took  leave  of  him.  As  soon  as  the  Cruchots 
were  out  in  the  street  and  the  door  was  shut  behind  them, 
Mme.  des  Grassins  turned  to  them  and  said,  *'  Something  has 
happened  among  the  Grandets.  The  mother  is  very  ill ;  she 
herself  has  no  idea  how  ill  she  is,  and  the  girl's  eyes  are  red, 
as  if  she  had  been  crying  for  a  long  while.  Are  they  wanting 
to  marry  her  against  her  will  ?  " 


EUG&NIE   GRANDET.  176 

That  night,  when  the  cooper  had  gone  to  bed,  Nanon,  in 
list  slippers,  stole  up  to  Eugenie's  room,  and  displayed  a 
raised  pie,  which  she  had  managed  to  bake  in  a  saucepan. 

*'  Here,  mademoiselle,"  said  the  kind  soul,  "  Cornoiller 
brought  a  hare  for  me.  You  eat  so  little  that  the  pie  will  last 
you  for  quite  a  week,  and  there  is  no  fear  of  its  spoiling  in 
this  frost.  You  shall  not  live  on  dry  bread,  at  any  rate ;  it  is 
not  at  all  good  for  you." 

"Poor  Nanon!"  said  Eugenie,  as  she  pressed  the  girl's 
hand. 

**  I  have  made  it  very  dainty  and  nice,  and  he  never  found 
out  about  it.  I  paid  for  the  lard  and  the  bay-leaves  out  of  my 
six  francs;  I  can  surely  do  as  I  like  with  my  own  money," 
and  the  old  servant  fled,  thinking  that  she  heard  Grandet 
stirring. 

Several  months  went  by.  The  cooper  went  to  see  his  wife 
at  various  times  in  the  day,  and  never  mentioned  his  daugh- 
ter's name — never  saw  her,  nor  made  the  slightest  allusion  to 
her.  Mme.  Grandet's  health  grew  worse  and  worse ;  she  had 
not  once  left  her  room  since  that  terrible  January  morning. 
But  nothing  shook  the  old  cooper's  determination  ;  he  was 
hard,  cold,  and  unyielding  as  a  block  of  granite.  He  came 
and  went,  his  manner  of  life  was  in  nowise  altered  ;  but  he 
did  not  stammer  now,  and  he  talked  less ;  perhaps,  too,  in 
matters  of  business,  people  found  him  harder  than  before, 
but  errors  crept  into  his  book-keeping. 

Something  had  certainly  happened  in  the  Grandet  family, 
both  Cruchotins  and  Grassinistes  were  agreed  on  that  head ; 
and  "  What  can  be  the  matter  with  the  Grandets  ?  "  became  a 
stock  question  which  people  asked  each  other  at  every  social 
gathering  in  Saumur. 

Eugenie  went  regularly  to  church,  escorted  by  Nanon. 
If  Mme.  des  Grassins  spoke  to  her  in  the  porch  as  she  came 
out,  the  girl  would  answer  evasively,  and  the  lady's  curiosity 
remained  ungratified.     But  after  two  months  spent  in  this 


176  EUGENIE    GRANDET. 

fashion  it  was  almost  impossible  to  hide  the  real  state  of  affairs 
from  Mme.  des  Grassins  or  from  the  Cruchots ;  a  time  came 
when  all  pretexts  were  exhausted,  and  Eugenie's  constant 
absence  still  demanded  an  explanation.  A  little  later,  though 
no  one  could  say  how  or  when  the  secret  leaked  out,  it  became 
common  property,  and  the  whole  town  knew  that  ever  since 
New  Year's  Day  Mile.  Grandet  had  been  locked  up  in  her 
room  by  her  father's  orders,  and  that  there  she  lived  on  bread 
and  water  in  solitary  confinement,  and  without  a  fire.  Nanon, 
it  was  reported,  cooked  dainties  for  her,  and  brought  food 
secretly  to  her  room  at  night.  Further  particulars  were  given. 
It  was  even  said  that  only  when  Grandet  was  out  of  the  house 
could  the  young  girl  nurse  her  mother,  or  indeed  see  her  at  all. 

People  blamed  Grandet  severely.  He  was  regarded  as  an 
outlaw,  as  it  were,  by  the  whole  town ;  all  his  hardness,  his 
bad  faith  was  remembered  against  him,  and  every  one  shunned 
him.  They  whispered  and  pointed  at  him  as  he  went  by; 
and  as  his  daughter  passed  along  the  crooked  street  on  her 
way  to  mass  or  to  vespers,  with  Nanon  at  her  side,  people 
would  hurry  to  their  windows  and  look  curiously  at  the 
wealthy  heiress*  face — a  face  so  sad  and  so  divinely  sweet. 

The  town  gossip  reached  her  ears  as  slowly  as  it  reached  her 
father's.  Her  imprisonment  and  her  father's  displeasure  were 
as  nothing  to  her  ;  had  she  not  her  map  of  the  world  ?  And 
from  her  window  could  she  not  see  the  little  bench,  the  old 
wall,  and  the  garden  walks  ?  Was  not  the  sweetness  of  those 
past  kisses  still  upon  her  lips?  So,  sustained  by  love  and  by 
the  consciousness  of  her  innocence  in  the  sight  of  God,  she 
could  patiently  endure  her  solitary  life  and  her  father's  anger ; 
but  there  was  another  sorrow,  so  deep  and  so  overwhelming 
that  Eugenie  could  not  find  a  refuge  from  it.  The  gentle, 
patient  mother  was  gradually  passing  away ;  it  seemed  as  if 
the  beauty  of  her  soul  shone  out  more  and  more  brightly  in 
those  dark  days  as  she  drew  nearer  to  the  tomb.  Eug6nie 
often  bitterly  blamed  herself  for  this  illness,  telling  herself 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  XTl 

that  she  had  been  the  innocent  cause  of  the  painful  malady 
that  was  slowly  consuming  her  mother's  life ;  and,  in  spite  of 
all  her  mother  said  to  comfort  her,  this  remorseful  feeling 
made  her  cling  more  closely  to  the  love  she  was  to  lose  so 
soon.  Every  morning,  as  soon  as  her  father  had  left  the 
house,  she  went  to  sit  at  her  mother's  bedside.  Nanon  used 
to  bring  her  breakfast  to  her  there.  But  for  poor  Eugenie  in 
her  sadness,  this  suffering  was  almost  more  than  she  could 
bear ;  she  looked  at  her  mother's  face,  and  then  at  Nanon, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  was  dumb ;  she  did  not  dare  to 
speak  of  her  cousin  now.  It  was  always  Mme.  Grandet  who 
began  to  talk  of  him ;  it  was  she  who  was  forced  to  say, 
"  Where  is  he  ?    Why  does  he  not  write  ?  " 

Neither  mother  nor  daughter  had  any  idea  of  the  distance. 

*'  Let  us  think  of  him  without  talking  about  him,  mother," 
Eugenie  would  answer.  "You  are  suffering;  you  come  be- 
fore every  one;  "  and  when  she  said  "every  one,"  Eugdnie 
meant  him. 

"I have  no  wish  to  live  any  longer,  child,"  Mme.  Grandet 
used  to  say.  "  God  in  His  protecting  care  has  led  me  to  look 
forward  joyfully  to  death  as  the  end  of  my  sorrows." 

Everything  that  she  said  was  full  of  Christian  piety.  For 
the  first  few  months  of  the  year  her  husband  breakfasted  in 
her  room,  and  always,  as  he  walked  restlessly  about,  he  heard 
the  same  words  from  her,  uttered  with  angelic  gentleness,  but 
with  firmness ;  the  near  approach  of  death  had  given  her  the 
courage  which  she  had  lacked  all  her  life. 

"Thank  you,  sir,  for  the  interest  which  you  take  in  my 
health,"  she  said  in  response  to  the  merest  formality  of  an  in- 
quiry ;  "  but  if  you  really  wish  to  sweeten  the  bitterness  of 
my  last  moments,  and  to  alleviate  my  sufferings,  forgive  our 
daughter,  and  act  like  a  Christian,  a  husband,  and  a  father." 

At  these  words  Grandet  would  come  and  sit  down  by  the 
bed,  much  as  a  man  who  is  threatened  by  a  shower  betakes 
himself  resignedly  to  the  nearest  sheltering  archway.  He 
12 


178  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

would  say  nothing,  and  his  wife  might  say  what  she  liked. 
To  the  most  pathetic,  loving,  and  fervent  prayers,  he  would 
reply,  "  My  poor  wife,  you  are  looking  a  bit  pale  to-day." 

His  daughter  seemed  to  have  passed  entirely  out  of  his  mind ; 
the  mention  of  her  name  brought  no  change  over  his  stony 
face  and  hard-set  mouth.  He  always  gave  the  same  vague 
answers  to  her  pleadings,  couched  in  almost  the  same  words, 
and  did  not  heed  his  wife's  white  face,  nor  the  tears  that  flowed 
down  her  cheeks. 

"  May  God  forgive  you,  as  I  do,  sir,"  she  said.  "  You  will 
have  need  of  mercy  some  day." 

Since  his  wife's  illness  had  began  he  had  not  ventured  to 
make  use  of  his  formidable  "Tut,  tut,  tut,"  but  his  tyranny 
was  not  relaxed  one  whit  by  his  wife's  angelic  gentleness. 

Her  plain  face  was  growing  almost  beautiful  now  as  a  beauti- 
ful nature  showed  itself  more  and  more,  and  her  soul  grew 
absolute.  It  seemed  as  if  the  spirit  of  prayer  had  purified  and 
refined  the  homely  features — as  if  they  were  lit  up  by  some 
inner  light.  Which  of  us  has  not  known  such  faces  as  this, 
and  seen  their  final  transfiguration — the  triumph  of  a  soul  that 
has  dwelt  for  so  long  among  pure  and  lofty  thoughts  that  they 
set  their  seal  unmistakably  upon  the  roughest  lineaments  at 
last  ?  The  sight  of  this  transformation  wrought  by  the  physical 
suffering  which  stripped  the  soul  of  the  rags  of  humanity  that 
hid  it,  had  a  certain  effect,  however  feeble,  upon  that  man 
of  bronze — the  old  cooper.  A  stubborn  habit  of  silence  had 
succeeded  to  his  old  contemptuous  ways,  a  wish  to  keep  up 
his  dignity  as  a  father  of  a  family  was  apparently  the  motive 
for  this  course. 

The  faithful  Nanon  no  sooner  showed  herself  in  the  market- 
place than  people  began  to  rail  at  her  master  and  to  make 
jokes  at  his  expense  ;  but  however  loudly  public  opinion  con- 
demned old  Grandet,  the  maidservant,  jealous  for  the  honor 
of  the  family,  stoutly  defended  him. 

**  Well,  now,"  she  would  say  to  those  who  spoke  ill  of  her 


EUG&NIE   GRANDET.  179 

master,  "don't  we  all  grow  harder  as  we  grow  older?  And 
would  you  have  him  different  from  other  people  ?  Just  hold 
your  lying  tongues.  Mademoiselle  lives  like  a  queen.  She 
is  all  by  herself  no  doubt,  but  she  likes  it;  and  my  master 
and  mistress  have  their  very  good  reasons  for  what  they  do." 

At  last,  one  evening  towards  the  end  of  spring,  Mme.  Gran- 
det,  feeling  that  this  trouble,  even  more  than  her  illness,  was 
shortening  her  days,  and  that  any  farther  attempt  on  her  part 
to  obtain  forgiveness  for  Eugenie  was  hopeless,  confided  her 
troubles  to  the  Cruchots. 

"To   put   a  girl   of  twenty-two  on  a  diet  of  bread  and 

water! "  cried  the  President  de  Bonfons,  "  and  without 

just  and  sufficient  cause  !  Why,  that  constitutes  legal  cruelty ; 
she  might  lodge  a  complaint ;  in  as  much  as " 

"Come,  nephew,"  said  the  notary,  "that  is  enough  of 
your  law  court  jargon.  Be  easy,  madame ;  I  will  bring  this 
imprisonment  to  an  end  to-morrow." 

Eugenie  heard,  and  came  out  of  her  room. 

"  Gentlemen,"  she  said,  impelled  by  a  certain  pride,  "do 
nothing  in  this  matter,  I  beg  of  you.  My  father  is  master 
in  his  own  house,  and  so  long  as  I  live  under  his  roof  I  ought 
to  obey  him.  No  one  has  any  right  to  criticise  his  conduct ; 
he  is  answerable  to  God,  and  to  God  alone.  If  you  have  any 
friendly  feeling  for  me,  I  entreat  you  to  say  nothing  whatever 
about  this.  If  you  expose  my  father  to  censure,  you  would 
lower  us  all  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  I  am  very  thankful  to 
you,  gentlemen,  for  the  interest  you  have  taken  in  me,  and 
you  will  oblige  me  still  farther  if  you  will  put  a  stop  to  the 
gossip  that  is  going  on  in  the  town.  I  only  heard  of  it  by 
accident." 

"She  is  right,"  said  Mme.  Grandet. 

"  Mademoiselle,  the  best  possible  way  to  stop  people's  talk 
would  be  to  set  you  at  liberty,"  said  the  old  notary  respect- 
fully ;  he  was  struck  with  the  beauty  which  solitude  and  love 
and  sadness  had  brought  into  Eugenie's  face. 


180  EUGj^NIE   GRANDET. 

"  Well,  Eugenie,  leave  it  in  M.  Cruchot's  hands,  as  he 
seems  to  think  success  is  certain.  He  knows  your  father,  and 
he  knows,  too,  how  to  put  the  matter  before  him.  You  and 
your  father  must  be  reconciled  at  all  costs,  if  you  want  me  to 
be  happy  during  the  little  time  I  have  yet  to  live." 

The  next  morning  Grandet  went  out  to  take  a  certain  num- 
ber of  turns  round  the  little  garden,  a  habit  that  he  had  fallen 
into  during  Eugenie's  incarceration.  He  chose  to  take  the 
air  while  Eugenie  was  dressing ;  and  when  he  had  reached  the 
great  walnut  tree,  he  stood  behind  it  for  a  few  moments  and 
looked  at  her  window.  He  watched  her  as  she  brushed  her 
long  hair,  and  there  was  a  sharp  struggle  doubtless  between 
his  natural  stubborn  will  and  a  longing  to  take  his  daughter  in 
his  arms  and  kiss  her. 

He  would  often  go  to  sit  on  the  little  worm-eaten  bench 
where  Charles  and  Eugenie  had  vowed  to  love  each  other 
for  ever ;  and  she,  his  daughter,  also  watched  her  father  fur- 
tively, or  looked  into  her  glass  and  saw  him  reflected  there, 
and  the  garden  and  the  bench.  If  he  rose  and  began  to  walk 
again,  she  went  to  sit  in  the  window.  It  was  pleasant  to  her 
to  be  there.  She  studied  the  bit  of  old  wall,  the  delicate 
sprays  of  wild  flowers  that  grew  in  its  crevices,  the  maiden- 
hair fern,  the  morning  glories,  and  a  little  plant  with  thick 
leaves  and  white  or  yellow  flowers,  a  sort  of  stone-crop  that 
grows  everywhere  among  the  vines  at  Saumur  and  Tours. 

Old  M.  Cruchot  came  early  on  a  bright  June  morning  and 
found  the  vine-grower  sitting  on  the  little  bench  with  his  back 
against  the  wall,  absorbed  in  watching  his  daughter. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  M.  Cruchot?"  he  asked,  as  he 
became  aware  of  the  notary's  presence. 

"  I  have  come  about  a  matter  of  business." 

'*  Aha !    Have  you  some  gold  to  exchange  for  crowns  ?  " 

"  No,  no.  It  is  not  a  question  of  money  this  time,  but  of 
your  daughter  Eugenie.  Everybody  is  talking  about  you 
and  her." 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  181 

"What  business  is  it  of  theirs?  A  man's  house  is  his 
castle." 

"Just  so;  and  a  man  can  kill  himself  if  he  has  a  mind 
to,  or  he  can  do  worse,  he  can  throw  his  money  out  of  the 
windows." 

"What?" 

"  Eh !  but  your  wife  is  very  ill,  my  friend.  You  ought 
even  to  call  in  M.  Bergerin,  her  life  is  in  danger.  If  she  were 
to  die  for  want  of  proper  care,  you  would  hear  of  it,  I 
am  sure." 

"Tut,  tut,  tut!"  you  know  what  is  the  matter  with  her, 
and  when  once  one  of  these  doctors  sets  foot  in  your  house, 
they  will  come  five  or  six  times  a  day," 

"After  all,  Grandet,  you  will  do  as  you  think  best.  We 
are  old  friends ;  there  is  no  one  in  all  Saumur  who  has  your 
interests  more  at  heart  than  I,  so  it  was  only  my  duty  to  let 
you  know  this.  Whatever  happens,  you  are  responsible,  and 
you  understand  your  own  business,  so  there  it  is.  Besides, 
that  was  not  what  I  came  to  speak  about.  There  is  something 
else  more  serious  for  you,  perhaps ;  for,  after  all,  you  do  not 
wish  to  kill  your  wife,  she  is  too  useful  to  you.  Just  think 
what  your  position  would  be  if  anything  happened  to  Mme. 
Grandet  \  you  would  have  your  daughter  to  face.  You  would 
have  to  give  an  account  to  Eugenie  of  her  mother's  share  of 
your  joint  estate ;  and  if  she  chose,  your  daughter  might  de- 
mand her  mother's  fortune,  for  she,  and  not  you,  will  succeed 
to  it ;  and  in  that  case  you  might  have  to  sell  Froidfond." 

Cruchot's  words  were  like  a  bolt  from  the  blue  ;  for  much 
as  the  worthy  cooper  knew  about  business,  he  knew  very  little 
law.  The  idea  of  a  forced  sale  had  never  occurred  to 
him. 

"  So  I  should  strongly  recommend  you  to  treat  her  kindly," 
the  notary  concluded. 

"  But  do  you  know  what  she  has  done,  Cruchot  ?  " 

"  No.     What  was  it  ?  "  asked  the  notary;  he  felt  curious  to 


182  EUGJkNIE   GRANDET. 

know  the  reason  of  the  quarrel,  and  a  confidence  from  old 
Grandet  was  an  interesting  novelty. 

**  She  has  given  away  her  gold." 

"  Oh  !  well,  it  belonged  to  her,  didn't  it?  " 

**  That  is  what  they  all  say  !  "  said  Grandet,  letting  his  arms 
fall  with  a  tragic  gesture. 

**  And  for  a  trifle  like  that  you  would  shut  yourself  out 
from  all  hope  of  any  concessions  which  you  will  want  her  to 
make  if  her  mother  dies? " 

"Ah  !  do  you  call  six  thousand  francs  in  gold  a  trifle?" 

"  Eh !  my  old  friend,  have  you  any  idea  what  it  will  cost 
you  to  have  your  property  valued  and  divided  if  Eugenie 
should  compel  you  to  do  so?" 

"What  would  it  cost?" 

"Two,  three,  or  even  four  thousand  francs.  How  could 
you  know  what  it  was  worth  unless  you  put  it  up  to  public 
auction?     While  if  you  come  to  an  understanding " 

"  By  my  father's  pruning  hook!"  cried  the  vine-grower, 
sinking  back,  and  turning  quite  pale.  "  We  will  see  about 
this,  Cruchot." 

After  a  moment  of  agony  or  of  dumb  bewilderment, 
Grandet  spoke,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  his  neighbor's  face. 
"Life  is  very  hard,"  he  said.  "  It  is  full  of  troubles.  Cru- 
chot," he  went  on,  earnestly,  "  you  are  incapable  of  deceiving 
me ;  give  me  your  word  of  honor  that  this  ditty  of  yours  has 
a  solid  foundation.  Let  me  look  at  the  Code ;  I  want  to  see 
the  Code!" 

"  My  poor  friend,"  said  the  notary,  "  I  ought  to  understand 
my  own  profession." 

"Then  it  is  really  true?  I  shall  be  plundered,  cheated, 
robbed,  and  murdered  by  my  own  daughter  !  " 

"  She  is  her  mother's  heiress." 

"Then  what  is  the  good  of  having  children?  Oh!  my 
wife,  I  love  my  wife ;  luckily,  she  has  a  sound  constitution ; 
she  is  a  La  Bertellidre." 


EUGENIE    GRANDET.  188 

*'  She  has  not  a  month  to  live." 

The  cooper  struck  his  forehead,  took  a  few  paces,  and  then 
came  back  again. 

"  What  is  to  be  done?  "  he  demanded  of  Cruchot,  with  a 
tragic  expression  on  his  face. 

"  Well,  perhaps  Eugenie  might  simply  give  up  her  claims 
to  her  mother's  property.  You  do  not  mean  to  disinherit  her, 
do  you  ?  But  do  not  treat  her  harshly  if  you  want  her  to 
make  a  concession  of  that  kind.  I  am  speaking  against  my 
own  interests,  my  friend.  How  do  I  make  a  living  but  by 
drawing  up  inventories  and  conveyances  and  deeds  of  arrange- 
ment and  by  winding  up  estates?  " 

"  We  shall  see,  we  shall  see.  Let  us  say  no  more  about  this 
now,  Cruchot.  You  have  wrung  my  very  soul.  Have  you 
taken  any  gold  lately  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  I  have  some  old  louis,  nine  or  ten  perhaps, 
which  you  can  have.  Look  here,  my  good  friend,  make  it  up 
with  Eugenie  ;  all  Saumur  is  pointing  a  finger  at  you." 

"The  rogues!  " 

"  Well,  consols  have  risen  to  ninety-nine,  so  you  should  be 
satisfied  for  once  in  your  life." 

"At  ninety-nine,  Cruchot?" 

"Yes." 

"  Hey !  hey  !  ninety-nine  !  "  the  old  man  said,  as  he  went 
with  the  notary  to  the  street-door.  He  felt  too  much  agitated 
by  what  he  had  just  heard  to  stay  quietly  at  home ;  so  he  went 
up  to  his  wife's  room. 

"  Come,  mother,  you  may  spend  the  day  with  your  daughter, 
I  am  going  to  Froidfond.  Be  good,  both  of  you,  while  I  am 
away.  This  is  our  wedding-day,  dear  wife.  Stay  !  here  are 
ten  crowns  for  you,  for  the  F6te-Dieu  procession ;  you  have 
wanted  to  give  it  for  long  enough.  Take  a  holiday  !  have 
some  fun,  keep  up  your  spirits  and  get  well.      Vive  la  joie  !  " 

He  threw  down  ten  crowns  of  six  francs  each  upon  the  bed, 
took  her  face  in  his  hands,  and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead. 


184  EUGENIE   GRAND ET. 

"  You  are  feeling  better,  dear  wife,  are  you  not  ?  " 

"  But  how  can  you  think  of  receiving  God,  who  forgives, 
into  your  house,  when  you  have  shut  your  heart  against  your 
daughter?  "  she  said,  with  deep  feeling  in  her  voice. 

"  Tut,  tut,  tut !  "  said  the  father  soothingly ;  "we  will  see 
about  that." 

"Merciful  heaven!  Eugenie!"  called  the  mother,  her 
face  flushed  with  joy ;  "  Eugenie,  come  and  give  your  father 
a  kiss,  you  are  forgiven  ! ' '  But  her  worthy  father  had  van- 
ished. He  fled  with  all  his  might  in  the  direction  of  his 
vineyards,  where  he  set  himself  to  the  task  of  constructing 
his  new  world  out  of  this  chaos  of  strange  ideas. 

Grandet  had  just  entered  upon  his  sixty-seventh  year. 
Avarice  had  gained  a  stronger  hold  upon  him  during  the  past 
two  years  of  his  life ;  indeed,  all  lasting  passions  grow  with 
man's  growth ;  and  it  had  come  to  pass  with  him,  as  with  all 
men  whose  lives  are  ruled  by  one  master-idea,  that  he  clung 
with  all  the  force  of  his  imagination  to  the  symbol  which 
represented  that  idea  for  him.  Gold — to  have  gold,  that  he 
might  see  and  touch  it,  had  become  with  him  a  perfect  mono- 
mania. His  disposition  to  tyrannize  had  also  grown  with  his 
love  of  money,  and  it  seemed  to  him  to  be  monstrous  that  he 
should  be  called  upon  to  give  up  the  least  portion  of  his  prop- 
erty on  the  death  of  his  wife.  Was  he  to  render  an  account 
of  her  fortune,  and  to  have  an  inventory  drawn  up  of  every- 
thing he  possessed — personalty  and  real  estate,  and  put  it  all 
up  to  auction  ? 

"  That  would  be  stark  ruin,"  he  said  aloud  to  himself,  as  he 
stood  among  his  vines  and  examined  their  stems. 

He  made  up  his  mind  at  last,  and  came  back  to  Saumur  at 
dinner-time  fully  determined  on  his  course.  He  would  humor 
Eugenie,  and  coax  and  cajole  her  so  that  he  might  die  royally, 
keeping  the  control  of  his  millions  in  his  hands  until  his 
latest  sigh.  It  happened  that  he  let  himself  in  with  his 
master  key ;  he  crept  noiselessly  as  a  wolf  up  the  stairs  to  his 


EUG&NIE   GRANDET.  185 

wife's  room,  which  he  entered  just  as  Eugenie  was  setting  the 
dressing-case,  in  all  its  golden  glory,  upon  her  mother's  bed. 
The  two  women  had  stolen  a  pleasure  in  Grandet's  absence ; 
they  were  looking  at  the  portraits  and  tracing  out  Charles' 
features  in  his  mother's  likeness. 

"  It  is  just  his  forehead  and  his  mouth  !  "  Eugenie  was 
saying,  as  the  vine-grower  opened  the  door. 

Mme.  Grandet  saw  how  her  husband's  eyes  darted  upon  the 
gold.     **  Oh  !  God,  have  pity  upon  us  !  "  she  cried. 

The  vine-grower  seized  upon  the  dressing-case  as  a  tiger 
might  spring  upon  a  sleeping  child. 

"  What  may  this  be?  "  he  said,  carrying  off  the  treasure  to 
the  window,  where  he  ensconced  himself  with  it.  "  Gold  ! 
solid  gold  !"  he  cried,  "and  plenty  of  it  too;  there  is  a 
couple  of  pounds'  weight  here.  Aha !  so  this  was  what 
Charles  gave  you  in  exchange  for  your  pretty  gold-pieces? 
Why  did  you  not  tell  me  ?  It  was  a  good  stroke  of  business, 
little  girl.  You  are  your  father's  own  daughter,  I  see. 
(Eugenie  trembled  from  head  to  foot.)  This  belongs  to 
Charles,  doesn't  it  ?  "  the  good  man  went  on. 

"Yes,  father;  it  is  not  mine.  That  case  is  a  sacred 
trust." 

"  Tut,  tut,  tut !  he  has  gone  off  with  your  money ;  you 
ought  to  make  good  the  loss  of  your  little  treasure." 

"Oh!  father! " 

The  old  man  had  taken  out  his  pocket-knife,  with  a  view  to 
wrenching  away  a  plate  of  the  precious  metal,  and  for  the 
moment  had  been  obliged  to  lay  the  case  on  a  chair  beside 
him.  Eugenie  sprang  forward  to  secure  her  treasure  ;  but  the 
cooper,  who  had  kept  an  eye  upon  his  daughter  as  well  as 
upon  the  casket,  put  out  his  arm  to  prevent  this,  and  thrust 
her  back  so  roughly  that  she  fell  on  to  the  bed. 

**  Sir  !  sir  !  "  cried  the  mother,  rising  and  sitting  upright. 

Grandet  had  drawn  out  his  knife,  and  was  about  to  insert 
the  blade  beneath  the  plate. 


186  EUG&NIE   GRANDET. 

"Father  !  "  cried  Eugenie,  going  down  on  her  knees  and 
dragging  herself  nearer  to  him  as  she  knelt ;  "  father,  in  the 
name  of  all  the  saints,  and  the  Holy  Virgin,  for  the  sake  of 
Christ  who  died  on  the  cross,  for  your  own  soul's  salvation, 
father,  if  you  have  any  regard  for  my  life,  do  not  touch  it ! 
The  case  is  not  yours,  and  it  is  not  mine.  It  belongs  to  an 
unhappy  kinsman,  who  gave  it  into  my  keeping,  and  I  ought 
to  give  it  back  to  him  untouched." 

"  What  do  you  look  at  it  for  if  it  is  a  deposit?  Looking 
at  it  is  worse  than  touching  it." 

"Do  not  pull  it  to  pieces,  father!  You  will  bring  dis- 
honor upon  me.     Father  !  do  you  hear  me  ?" 

"  For  pity's  sake,  sir !  "  entreated  the  mother. 

"Father!" 

The  shrill  cry  rang  through  the  house  and  brought  the 
frightened  Nanon  upstairs.  Eugenie  caught  up  a  knife  that 
lay  within  her  reach. 

"Well?"  said  Grandet,  calmly,  with  a  cold  smile  on 
his  lips. 

"  Sir  !  you  are  killing  me  !  "  said  the  mother. 

"  Father,  if  you  cut  away  a  single  scrap  of  gold,  I  shall 
stab  myself  with  this  knife.  It  is  your  doing  that  my  mother 
is  dying,  and  now  my  death  will  also  be  laid  at  your  door. 
It  shall  be  wound  for  wound." 

Grandet  held  his  knife  suspended  above  the  case,  looked 
at  his  daughter,  and  hesitated. 

"  Would  you  really  do  it,  Eugenie  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes,  sir  !  "  said  the  mother. 

"  She  would  do  as  she  says,"  cried  Nanon.  "  Do  be  sen- 
sible, sir,  for  once  in  your  life." 

The  cooper  wavered  for  a  moment,  looking  first  at  the  gold 
and  then  at  his  daughter. 

Mme.  Grandet  fainted. 

"There  !  sir,  you  see,  the  mistress  is  dying,"  cried  Nanon. 

"  There !  there  !  child,  do  not  let  us  fall  out  about  a  box. 


EUG&NIE   GRANDET.  187 

Just  take  it  back!"  cried  the  cooper  hastily,  throwing  the 
case  on  to  the  bed.  "  And,  Nanon,  go  for  M.  Bergerin. 
Come!  come!  mother,"  he  said,  and  he  kissed  his  wife's 
hand;  "never  mind,  there!  there!  we  have  made  it  up, 
haven't  we,  little  girl?     No  more  dry  bread;  you  shall  eat 

whatever  you  like Ah  !  she  is  opening  her  eyes.     Well, 

now,  little  mother,  dear  little  mother,  don't  take  on  so  ! 
Look  !  I  am  going  to  kiss  Eugenie  !  She  loves  her  cousin, 
does  she  ?  She  shall  marry  him  if  she  likes ;  she  shall  keep 
his  little  case  for  him.  But  you  must  live  for  a  long  while 
yet,  my  poor  wife  !  Come  !  turn  your  head  a  little.  Listen  ! 
you  shall  have  the  finest  altar  at  the  F6te-Dieu  that  has  ever 
been  seen  in  Saumur." 

"  Oh  !  mon  Dieu  !  how  can  you  treat  your  wife  and  daugh- 
ter in  this  way!  "  moaned  Mme.  Grandet. 

"  I  will  never  do  so  again,  never  again  !  "  cried  the  cooper. 
"You  shall  see,  my  poor  wife." 

He  went  to  his  strong  room  and  returned  with  a  handful  of 
louis  d'or,  which  he  scattered  on  the  coverlet. 

"There!  Eugenie,  there!  wife,  those  are  for  you,"  he 
said,  fingering  the  gold  coins  as  they  lay.  "  Come !  cheer 
up,  and  get  well,  you  shall  want  for  nothing,  neither  you  nor 
Eugenie.  There  are  a  hundred  louis  for  her.  You  will  not 
give  them  away,  will  you,  eh,  Eugenie?  " 

Mme.  Grandet  and  her  daughter  gazed  at  each  other  in 
amazement. 

"  Take  back  the  money,  father ;  we  want  nothing,  nothing 
but  your  love." 

"Oh  !  well,  just  as  you  like,"  he  said,  as  he  pocketed  the 
louis,  "  let  us  live  together  like  good  friends.  Let  us  all  go 
down  to  the  dining-room  and  have  dinner,  and  play  loto  every 
evening,  and  put  our  two  sous  into  the  pool,  and  be  as  merry 
as  the  maids.     Eh  !  my  wife?  " 

"  Alas  !  how  I  wish  that  I  could,  if  you  would  like  it,"  said 
the  dying  woman,  "  but  I  am  not  strong  enough  to  get  up." 


188  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

"  Poor  mother !  "  said  the  cooper,  "  you  do  not  know  how 
much  I  love  you;  and  you  too,  child  !  " 

He  drew  his  daughter  to  him  and  embraced  her  with  fervor. 

**  Oh  !  how  pleasant  it  is  to  kiss  one's  daughter  after  a 
squabble,  my  little  girl !  There  !  mother,  do  you  see  ?  We 
are  quite  at  one  again  now.  Just  go  and  lock  that  away,"  he 
said  to  Eugenie,  as  he  pointed  to  the  case.  *'  There  !  there  ! 
don't  be  frightened;  I  will  never  say  another  word  to  you 
about  it." 

M.  Bergerin,  who  was  regarded  as  the  cleverest  doctor  in 
Saumur,  came  before  very  long.  He  told  Grandet  plainly 
after  the  interview  that  the  patient  was  very  seriously  ill ; 
that  any  excitement  might  be  fatal  to  her ;  that  with  a  light 
diet,  perfect  tranquillity,  and  the  most  constant  care,  her  life 
might  possibly  be  prolonged  until  the  end  of  the  autumn. 

*'  Will  it  be  an  expensive  illness  ?  "  asked  Grandet.  "  Will 
she  want  a  lot  of  physic  ?  " 

"Not  much  physic,  but  very  careful  nursing,"  answered 
the  doctor,  who  could  not  help  smiling. 

"After  all,  M.  Bergerin,  you  are  a  man  of  honor,"  said 
Grandet  uneasily.  "I  can  depend  upon  you,  can  I  not? 
Come  and  see  my  wife  whenever  and  as  often  as  you  think  it 
really  necessary.  Preserve  her  life.  My  good  wife — I  am 
very  fond  of  her,  you  see,  though  I  may  not  show  it ;  it  is 
all  shut  up  inside  me,  and  I  am  one  that  takes  things  terribly 
to  heart ;  I  am  in  trouble  too.  It  all  began  with  my  brother's 
death ;  I  am  spending,  oh  ! — heaps  of  money  in  Paris  for 
him — the  very  eyes  out  of  my  head,  in  fact,  and  it  seems  as 
if  there  were  no  end  to  it.  Good-day,  sir.  If  you  can  save 
my  wife,  save  her,  even  if  it  takes  a  hundred  or  two  hundred 
francs." 

In  spite  of  Grandet's  fervent  wishes  that  his  wife  might  be 
restored  to  health,  for  this  question  of  the  inheritance  was 
like  a  foretaste  of  death  for  him  ;  in  spite  of  his  readiness  to 
fulfill  the  least  wishes  of  the  astonished  mother  and  daughter 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  189 

in  every  possible  way  ;  in  spite  of  Eugenie's  tenderest  and  most 
devoted  care,  it  was  evident  that  Mme,  Grandet's  life  was 
rapidly  drawing  to  a  close.  Day  by  day  she  grew  weaker, 
and,  as  often  happens  at  her  time  of  life,  she  had  no  strength 
to  resist  the  disease  that  was  wasting  her  away.  She  seemed 
to  have  no  more  vitality  than  the  autumn  leaves ;  and  as  the 
sunlight  shining  through  the  leaves  turns  them  to  gold,  so  she 
seemed  to  be  transformed  by  the  light  of  heaven.  Her  death 
was  a  fitting  close  to  her  life,  a  death  wholly  Christian ;  is 
not  that  saying  that  it  was  sublime  ?  Her  love  for  her  daugh- 
ter, her  meek  virtues,  her  angelic  patience,  had  never  shone 
more  brightly  than  in  that  month  of  October,  1822,  when  she 
passed  away.  All  through  her  illness  she  had  never  uttered 
the  slightest  complaint,  and  her  spotless  soul  left  earth  for 
heaven  with  but  one  regret — for  the  daughter  whose  sweet 
companionship  had  been  the  solace  of  her  dreary  life,  and  for 
whom  her  dying  eyes  foresaw  troubles  and  sorrows  manifold. 
She  trembled  at  the  thought  of  this  lamb,  spotless  as  she  her- 
self was,  left  alone  in  the  world  among  selfish  beings  who 
sought  to  despoil  her  of  her  fleece,  her  treasure. 

**  There  is  no  happiness  save  in  heaven,"  she  said  just  be- 
fore she  died  ;  "  you  will  know  that  one  day,  my  child." 

On  the  morrow  after  her  mother's  death,  it  seemed  to  Eu- 
genie that  she  had  yet  one  more  reason  for  clinging  fondly  to 
the  old  house  where  she  had  been  born,  and  where  she  had 
found  life  so  hard  of  late — it  became  for  her  the  place  where 
her  mother  had  died.  She  could  not  see  the  old  chair  set 
on  little  blocks  of  wood,  the  place  by  the  window  where 
her  mother  used  to  sit,  without  shedding  tears.  Her  father 
showed  her  such  tenderness,  and  took  such  care  of  her,  that 
she  began  to  think  that  she  had  never  understood  his  nature  ; 
he  used  to  come  to  her  room  and  take  her  down  to  breakfast 
on  his  arm,  and  sit  looking  at  her  for  whole  hours  with  some- 
thing almost  like  kindness  in  his  eyes,  with  the  same  brooding 
look  that  he  gave  his  gold.     Indeed,  the  old  cooper  almost 


190  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

trembled  before  his  daughter,  and  was  altogether  so  unlike 
himself,  that  Nanon  and  the  Cruchotins  wondered  at  these 
signs  of  weakness,  and  set  it  down  to  his  advanced  age ;  they 
began  to  fear  that  the  old  man's  mind  was  giving  way.  But 
when  the  day  came  on  which  the  family  began  to  wear  their 
mourning,  M.  Cruchot,  who  alone  was  in  his  client's  confi- 
dence, was  invited  to  dinner,  and  these  mysteries  were  ex- 
plained. Grandet  waited  till  the  table  had  been  cleared,  and 
the  doors  carefully  shut. 

Then  he  began:  **  My  dear  child  you  are  your  mother's 
heiress,  and  there  are  some  little  matters  of  business  that  we 
roust  settle  between  us.     Is  that  not  so,  eh,  Cruchot  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Is  it  really  pressing;  must  it  be  settled  to-day,  father?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  little  girl.  I  could  not  endure  this  suspense  any 
longer,  and  I  am  sure  you  would  not  make  things  hard  for  me." 

"Oh!  father " 

"  Well,  then,  everything  must  be  decided  to-night." 

"  Then  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  Well,  little  girl,  it  is  not  for  me  to  tell  you.  You  tell 
her,  Cruchot." 

"  Mademoiselle,  your  father  wants  neither  to  divide  nor  to 
sell  his  property,  nor  to  pay  a  heavy  succession  duty  upon  the 
ready  money  he  may  happen  to  have  just  now.  So  if  these 
complications  are  to  be  avoided,  there  must  be  no  inventory 
made  out,  and  all  the  property  must  remain  undivided  for  the 
present " 

"  Cruchot,  are  you  quite  sure  of  what  you  are  saying  that 
you  talk  in  this  way  before  a  child  ?  " 

"  Let  me  say  what  I  have  to  say,  Grandet." 

**  Yes,  yes,  my  friend.  Neither  you  nor  my  daughter  would 
plunder  me.  You  would  not  plunder  me,  would  you,  little 
girl?" 

"But  what  am  I  to  do,  M.  Cruchot?"  asked  Eugenie, 
losing  patience. 


EUGENIE    GRANDET.  191 

"Well,"  said  the  notary,  "you  must  sign  this  deed,  by 
which  you  renounce  your  claims  to  your  mother's  property ; 
the  property  would  be  secured  to  you,  but  your  father  would 
have  the  use  of  it  for  his  life,  and  there  would  be  no  need  to 
make  a  division  now." 

"I  understand  nothing  of  all  this  that  you  are  saying," 
Eugenie  answered;  "give  me  the  deed,  and  show  me  where  I 
am  to  sign  my  name." 

Grandet  looked  from  the  document  to  his  daughter,  and 
again  from  his  daughter  to  the  document.  His  agitation  was 
so  great  that  he  actually  wiped  several  drops  of  perspiration 
from  his  forehead. 

"  I  would  much  rather  you  simply  waived  all  claim  to  your 
poor  dear  mother's  property,  little  girl,"  he  broke  in,  "in- 
stead of  signing  that  deed.  It  will  cost  a  lot  to  register  it. 
I  would  rather  you  renounced  your  claims  and  trusted  to  me 
for  the  future.  I  would  allow  you  a  good  round  sum,  say  a 
hundred  francs  every  month.     You  could  pay  for  masses  then, 

you  see ;  you  could  have  masses  said  for  any  one  that Eh  ? 

A  hundred  francs  (in  livres)  every  month?" 

"  I  will  do  just  as  you  like,  father." 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  the  notary,  "it  is  my  duty  to  point 
out  to  you  that  you  are  robbing  yourself  without  guarantee " 

*'Eh/  ttion  Dieul^''  she  answered.  "What  does  that 
matter  to  me  ?" 

"Do  be  quiet,  Cruchot.  So  it  is  settled,  quite  settled  !  " 
cried  Grandet,  taking  his  daughter's  hand  and  striking  his 
own  into  it.  "You  will  not  go  back  from  your  word, 
Eugenie  ?    You  are  a  good  girl,  hein  !  " 

"Oh!  father " 

In  his  joy  he  embraced  his  daughter,  almost  suffocating  her 
as  he  did  so. 

"There!  child,  you  have  given  fresh  life  to  your  father; 
but  you  are  only  giving  him  what  he  gave  you,  so  we  are  quits. 
This  is  how  business  ought  to  be  conducted,  and  life  is  a  busi- 


192  EUG&NIE    GRANDET. 

ness  transaction.  Bless  you  !  You  are  a  good  girl,  and  one 
that  really  loves  her  old  father.  You  can  do  as  you  like  now. 
Then  good-bye  till  to-morrow,  Cruchot,"  he  added,  turning 
to  the  horrified  notary.  "  You  will  see  that  the  deed  of 
renunciation  is  properly  drawn  up  for  the  clerk  of  the  court." 

By  noon  next  day  the  declaration  was  drawn  up,  and 
Eugenie  herself  signed  away  all  her  rights  to  her  heritage. 
Yet  ia  year  slipped  by,  and  the  cooper  had  not  kept  his 
promise,  and  Eugenie  had  not  received  a  sou  of  the  monthly 
income  which  was  to  have  been  hers ;  when  Eugenie  spoke  to 
him  about  it,  half-laughingly,  he  could  not  help  blushing ;  he 
hurried  up  to  his  room,  and  when  he  came  down  again  he 
handed  her  about  a  third  of  the  jewelry  which  he  had  pur- 
chased of  his  nephew. 

** There!  child,"  he  said,  with  a  certain  sarcastic  ring  in 
his  voice;  "will  you  take  these  for  your  twelve  hundred 
francs?" 

**  Oh  !  father,  really?    Will  you  really  give  them  to  me? " 

"You  shall  have  as  much  next  year  again,"  said  he,  fling- 
ing it  into  her  lap;  "and  so,  before  very  long,  you  will  have 
all  his  trinkets,"  he  added,  rubbing  his  hands.  He  had  made 
a  very  good  bargain,  thanks  to  his  daughter's  sentiment  about 
the  jewelry,  and  was  in  high  good-humor. 

Yet,  although  the  old  man  was  still  hale  and  vigorous,  he 
began  to  see  that  he  must  take  his  daughter  into  his  confi- 
dence, and  that  she  must  learn  to  manage  his  concerns.  So 
with  this  end  in  view  he  required  her  to  be  present  while  he 
gave  out  the  daily  stores,  and  for  two  years  he  made  her  re- 
ceive the  portion  of  the  rent  which  was  paid  in  kind.  Grad- 
ually she  came  to  know  the  names  of  the  vineyards  and  farms ; 
he  took  her  with  him  when  he  visited  his  tenants.  By  the 
end  of  the  third  year  he  considered  the  initiation  was  com- 
plete; and,  in  truth,  she  had  fallen  into  his  ways  unquestion- 
ingly,  till  it  had  become  a  matter  of  habit  with  her  to  do  as 
her  father  had  done  before  her.     He  had  no  further  doubts, 


EUGEXIE    GRAXDET.  193 

gave  over  the  keys  of  the  storeroom  into  her  keeping,  and 
installed  her  as  mistress  of  the  house. 

Five  years  went  by  in  this  way,  and  no  event  disturbed 
their  monotonous  existence.  Eugenie  and  her  father  lived  a 
life  of  methodical  routine  with  the  same  regularity  of  move- 
ment that  characterized  the  old  clock ;  doing  the  same  things 
at  the  same  hour  day  after  day,  year  after  year.  Every  one 
knew  that  there  had  been  a  profound  sorrow  in  Mile.  Gran- 
det's  life ;  every  circle  in  Saumur  had  its  theories  of  this 
secret  trouble,  and  its  suspicions  as  to  the  state  of  the  heiress' 
heart,  but  she  never  let  fall  a  word  that  could  enlighten  any 
one  on  either  point. 

She  saw  no  one  but  the  three  Cruchots  and  a  few  of  their 
friends,  who  had  gradually  been  admitted  as  visitors  to  the 
house.  Under  their  instructions  she  had  mastered  the  game 
of  whist,  and  they  dropped  in  nearly  every  evening  for  a 
rubber.  In  the  year  1827  her  father  began  to  feel  the  infirmi- 
ties of  age,  and  was  obliged  to  take  her  still  farther  into  his 
confidence ;  she  learned  the  full  extent  of  his  landed  posses- 
sions, and  was  recommended  in  all  cases  of  difficulty  to  refer 
to  the  notary  Cruchot,  whose  integrity  could  be  depended 
upon.  Grandet  reached  the  age  of  eighty-two,  and  towards 
the  end  of  the  year  had  a  paralytic  seizure,  from  which  he 
never  rallied.  M.  Bergerin  gave  him  up,  and  Eugenie  realized 
that  very  shortly  she  would  be  quite  alone  in  the  world  ;  the 
thought  drew  her  more  closely  to  her  father;  she  clung  to 
this  last  link  of  affection  that  bound  her  to  another  soul. 
Love  was  all  the  world  for  her,  as  it  is  for  all  women  who 
love ;  and  Charles  had  gone  out  of  her  world.  She  nursed 
her  father  with  sublime  devotion  ;  the  old  man's  intellect  had 
grown  feeble,  but  the  greed  of  gold  had  become  an  instinct 
which  survived  his  faculties. 

Grandet  died  as  he  had  lived.  Every  morning  during  that 
slow  death  he  had  himself  wheeled  across  his  room  to  a  place 
beside  the  fire,  whence  he  could  keep  the  door  of  his  cabinet 
13 


194  EUGENIE    GRANDET. 

in  view ;  on  the  other  side  of  the  door,  no  doubt,  lay  his 
hoarded  treasures  of  gold.  He  sat  there,  passive  and  motion- 
less ;  but  if  any  one  entered  the  room,  he  would  glance  un- 
easily at  the  newcomer,  and  then  at  the  door  with  its  sheath- 
ing of  iron  plates.  He  would  ask  the  meaning  of  every 
sound,  however  faint,  and,  to  the  notary's  amazement,  the 
old  man  heard  the  dog  bark  in  the  yard  at  the  back  of  the 
house.  He  roused  from  this  apparent  stupor  at  the  proper 
hour  on  the  days  for  receiving  his  rents  and  dues,  for  settling 
accounts  with  his  vine-dressers,  and  giving  receipts.  Then 
he  shifted  his  armchair  round  on  its  casters,  until  he  faced  tlie 
door  of  his  cabinet,  and  his  daughter  was  called  upon  to  open 
it,  and  to  put  away  the  little  bags  of  money  in  neat  piles,  one 
upon  the  other.  He  would  watch  her  until  it  was  all  over 
and  the  door  was  locked  again ;  and  as  soon  as  she  had  re- 
turned the  precious  key  to  him,  he  would  turn  round  noise- 
lessly and  take  up  his  old  position,  putting  the  key  in  his 
waistcoat  pocket,  where  he  felt  for  it  from  time  to  time. 

His  old  friend  the  notary  felt  sure  that  it  was  only  a  ques- 
tion of  time,  and  that  Eugenie  must  of  necessity  marry  his 
nephew  the  magistrate,  unless,  indeed,  Charles  Grandet  re- 
turned ;  so  he  redoubled  his  attentions.  He  came  every  day 
to  take  Grandet's  instructions,  went  at  his  bidding  to  Froid- 
fond,  to  farm  and  meadow  and  vineyard ;  sold  vintages,  and 
exchanged  all  moneys  received  for  gold,  which  was  secretly 
sent  to  join  the  piles  of  bags  stored  up  in  the  cabinet. 

Then  death  came  up  close  at  last,  and  the  vine-grower's 
strong  frame  wrestled  with  the  Destroyer.  Even  in  those 
days  he  would  sit  as  usual  by  the  fire,  facing  the  door  of  his 
cabinet.  He  used  to  drag  off  the  blankets  that  they  wrapped 
round  him,  and  try  to  fold  them,  and  say  to  Nanon,  "  Lock 
that  up;  lock  that  up,  or  they  will  rob  me." 

So  long  as  he  could  open  his  eyes,  where  the  last  spark  of 
life  seemed  to  linger,  they  used  to  turn  at  once  to  the  door 
of  the  room  where  all  his  treasures  lay,  and  he  would  say 


HE     WOULD    SIT     FOR     WHOLE    HOURS     WITH     HIS     EYES     FIXEC 
CN     THE    LOUIS. 


EUGENIE    GKANDET.  196 

to  his  daughter,  in  tones  that  seemed  to  thrill  with  a  panic 
of  fear — 

''Are  they  there  still?'' 

"Yes,  father." 

"  Keep  watch  over  the  gold  ! Let  me  see  the  gold,"  her 

father  would  say. 

Then  Eugenie  used  to  spread  out  the  louis  on  a  table  before 
him,  and  he  would  sit  for  whole  hours  with  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  louis  in  an  unseeing  stare,  like  that  of  a  child  who  begins 
to  see  for  the  first  time ;  and  sometimes  a  weak  imbecile  smile, 
painful  to  see,  would  steal  across  his  features. 

"  That  warms  me  !  "  he  muttered  more  than  once,  and  his 
face  expressed  a  perfect  content. 

When  the  cure  came  to  administer  the  sacrament,  all  the 
life  seemed  to  have  died  out  of  the  miser's  eyes,  but  they  lit 
up  for  the  first  time  for  many  hours  at  the  sight  of  the  silver 
crucifix,  the  candlesticks,  and  holy  water  vessel,  all  of  silver ; 
he  fixed  his  gaze  on  the  precious  metal,  and  the  wen  twitched 
for  the  last  time. 

As  the  priest  held  the  gilded  crucifix  above  him  that  the 
image  of  Christ  might  be  laid  to  his  lips,  he  made  a  frightful 
effort  to  clutch  it — a  last  effort  which  cost  him  his  life.  He 
called  to  Eugenie,  who  saw  nothing;  she  was  kneeling  beside 
him,  bathing  in  tears  the  hand  that  was  growing  cold  already. 
"Give  me  your  blessing,  father,"  she  entreated.  "Be  very 
careful  !  "  the  last  words  came  from  him  ;  "  one  day  you  will 
render  an  account  to  me  of  everything  here  below."  Which 
utterance  clearly  shows  that  a  miser  should  adopt  Christianity 
as  his  religion. 

So  Eugenie  Grandet  was  now  alone  in  the  world,  and 
her  house  was  left  to  her  desolate.  There  was  no  one  but 
Nanon  with  whom  she  could  talk  over  her  troubles  ;  she  could 
look  into  no  other  eyes  and  find  a  response  to  them  ;  big 
Nanon  was  the  only  human  being  who  loved  her  for  herself. 


196  EUGENIE    GRANDET. 

For  Eugenie,  Nanon  was  a  providence ;  she  was  no  longer  a 
servant,  she  was  an  humble  friend. 

M.  Cruchot  informed  Eugenie  that  she  had  three  hundred 
thousand  livres  a  year,  derived  from  landed  property  in  and 
around  Saumur,  besides  six  millions  in  the  three  per  cents, 
(invested  when  the  funds  were  at  sixty  francs,  whereas  they 
now  stood  at  seventy-seven),  and  in  ready  money  two  millions 
in  gold,  and  a  hundred  thousand  francs  in  silver,  without 
counting  any  arrears  that  were  due.  Altogether  her  property 
amounted  to  about  seventeen  million  francs. 

"  Where  can  my  cousin  be?  "  she  said  to  herself. 

On  the  day  when  M.  Cruchot  laid  these  facts  before  his 
new  client,  together  with  the  information  that  the  estate  was 
now  clear  and  free  from  all  outstanding  liabilities,  Eugenie 
and  Nanon  sat  on  either  side  of  the  hearth,  in  the  parlor, 
now  so  empty  and  so  full  of  memories ;  everything  recalled 
past  days,  from  her  mother's  chair  set  on  its  wooden  blocks  to 
the  glass  tumbler  out  of  which  her  cousin  once  drank. 

"Nanon,  we  are  alone,  you  and  I." 

"Yes,  mamselle;  if  I  only  knew  where  he  was,  the  charm- 
ing young  gentleman,  I  would  set  off  on  foot  to  find 
him." 

"  The  sea  lies  between  us,"  said  Eugenie. 

While  the  poor  lonely  heiress,  with  her  faithful  old  servant 
for  company,  was  shedding  tears  in  the  cold,  dark  house, 
which  was  all  the  world  she  knew,  men  talked  from  Orleans 
to  Nantes  of  nothing  but  Mile.  Grandet  and  her  seventeen 
millions.  One  of  her  first  acts  was  to  settle  a  pension  of 
twelve  hundred  francs  on  Nanon,  who,  possessing  already  an 
income  of  six  hundred  francs  of  her  own,  at  once  became  a 
great  match.  In  less  than  a  month  she  exchanged  her  condi- 
tion of  spinster  for  that  of  wife,  at  the  instance  and  through 
the  persuasion  of  Antoine  Cornoiller,  who  was  promoted  to 
the  position  of  bailiff  and  keeper  to  Mile.  Grandet.     Mme. 


EUG&NIE   GRAND ET.  197 

Cornoiller  had  an  immense  advantage  over  her  contempora- 
ries ;  her  large  features  had  stood  the  test  of  time  better  than 
those  of  many  a  comelier  woman.  She  might  be  fifty-nine 
years  of  age,  but  she  did  not  look  more  than  forty ;  thanks  to 
an  almost  monastic  regimen,  she  possessed  rugged  health  and 
a  high  color,  time  seemed  to  have  no  effect  on  her,  and  per- 
haps she  had  never  looked  so  well  in  her  life  as  she  did  on 
her  wedding-day.  She  had  the  compensating  qualities  of  her 
style  of  ugliness ;  she  was  tall,  stout,  and  strong ;  her  face 
wore  an  indestructible  expression  of  good-humor,  and  Cor- 
noiller's  lot  seemed  an  enviable  one  to  many  beholders. 

"  Fast  color,"  said  the  draper. 

"  She  might  have  a  family  yet,"  said  the  dry-salter ;  "  she 
is  as  well  preserved  as  if  she  had  been  kept  in  brine,  asking 
your  pardon." 

"  She  is  rich ;  that  fellow  Cornoiller  has  done  a  good  day's 
work,"  said  another  neighbor. 

When  Nanon  left  the  old  house  and  went  down  the  crooked 
street  on  her  way  to  the  parish  church,  she  met  with  nothing 
but  congratulations  and  good-wishes.  Nanon  was  very  popular 
with  her  neighbors.  Eugenie  gave  her  three  dozen  spoons 
and  forks  as  a  wedding  present.  Cornoiller,  quite  overcome 
with  such  munificence,  spoke  of  his  mistress  with  tears  in  his 
eyes ;  he  would  have  let  himself  be  cut  in  pieces  for  her. 
Mme.  Cornoiller  became  Eugenie's  confidential  servant ;  she 
was  not  only  married,  and  had  a  husband  of  her  own,  her 
dignity  was  yet  further  increased,  her  happiness  was  doubled. 
She  had  at  last  a  storeroom  and  a  bunch  of  keys;  she  too 
gave  out  provisions  just  as  her  late  master  used  to  do.  Then 
she  had  two  subordinates — a  cook  and  a  waiting-woman,  who 
took  charge  of  the  house  linen  and  made  Mile.  Grandet's 
dresses.  As  for  Cornoiller,  he  combined  the  functions  of 
forester  and  steward.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  cook  and 
waiting-woman  of  Nanon's  choosing  were  real  domestic  treas- 
ures.    The  tenants  scarcely  noticed  the  death  of  their  late 


198  EUGENIE    GRANDE T. 

landlord  ;  they  were  thoroughly  broken  in  to  a  severe  disci- 
pline, and  M.  and  Mme.  Cornoiller's  reign  was  no  whit  less 
rigorous  than  that  of  the  old  regime. 

Eugenie  was  a  woman  of  thirty,  and  as  yet  had  known  none 
of  the  happiness  of  life.  All  through  her  joyless,  monotonous 
childhood  she  had  had  but  one  companion,  a  broken-spirited 
mother,  whose  sensitive  nature  had  found  little  but  suffering 
in  a  hard  life.  That  mother  had  joyfully  taken  leave  of 
existence,  pitying  the  daughter  who  must  still  live  on  in  the 
world.  Eugenie  would  never  lose  the  sense  of  her  loss,  but 
little  of  the  bitterness  of  self-reproach  mingled  with  her  memo- 
ries of  her  mother.  She  felt  that  she  had  always  done  a 
daughter's  duty  to  her  mother. 

Love,  her  first  and  only  love,  had  been  a  fresh  source  of 
suffering  for  Eugenie.  For  a  few  brief  days  she  had  seen  her 
lover ;  she  had  given  her  heart  to  him  between  two  stolen 
kisses ;  then  he  had  left  her,  and  had  set  the  lands  and  seas 
of  the  world  between  them.  Her  father  had  cursed  her  for 
this  love  ;  it  had  nearly  cost  her  her  mother's  life  ;  it  had 
brought  her  pain  and  sorrow  and  a  few  faint  hopes.  She  had 
striven  towards  her  happiness  till  her  own  forces  had  failed 
her,  and  another  had  not  come  to  her  aid. 

Our  souls  live  by  giving  and  receiving  ;  we  have  need  of 
another  soul ;  whatever  it  gives  us  we  make  our  own,  and 
give  back  again  in  overflowing  measure.  This  is  as  vitally 
necessary  for  our  inner  life  as  breathing  is  for  our  corporeal 
existence.  Without  that  wonderful  physical  process  we  perish ; 
the  heart  suffers  from  lack  of  air,  and  ceases  to  beat.  Eugenie 
was  beginning  to  suffer. 

She  found  no  solace  in  her  wealth ;  it  could  do  nothing  for 
her ;  her  love,  her  religion,  her  faith  in  the  future  made  up 
all  her  life.  Love  was  leaching  her  what  eternity  meant. 
Her  own  heart  and  the  Gospel  each  spoke  to  her  of  a  life  to 
come ;  life  was  everlasting,  and  love  no  less  eternal.  Night 
and  day  she  dwelt  with  these  two  infinite  thoughts,  perhaps 


ELG&NIE   GRANDET.  199 

for  her  they  were  but  one.     She  withdrew  more  and  more 
into  herself;  she  loved,  and  believed  that  she  was  loved. 

For  seven  years  her  passion  had  wholly  engrossed  her. 

Her  treasures  were  not  those  millions  left  to  her  by  her 
father,  the  money  that  went  on  accumulating  year  after  year ; 
but  the  two  portraits  which  hung  above  her  bed,  Charles' 
leather  case,  the  jewels  which  she  had  bought  back  from  her 
father,  and  which  were  now  proudly  set  forth  on  a  layer  of 
cotton  wool  inside  the  drawer  in  the  old  chest,  and  her  aunt's 
thimble  which  Mme.  Grandet  had  used ;  every  day  Eugenie 
took  up  a  piece  of  embroidery,  a  sort  of  Penelope's  web,  which 
she  had  only  begun  that  she  might  wear  the  golden  thimble, 
endeared  to  her  by  so  many  memories. 

It  seemed  hardly  probable  that  Mile.  Grandet  would  marry 
while  she  still  wore  mourning.  Her  sincere  piety  was  well 
known.  So  the  Cruchot  family,  counseled  by  the  astute  old 
Abb6,  was  fain  to  be  content  with  surrounding  the  heiress 
with  the  most  affectionate  attentions.  Her  dining-room  was 
filled  every  evening  with  the  warmest  and  most  devoted 
Cruchotins,  who  endeavored  to  surpass  each  other  in  singing 
the  praises  of  the  mistress  of  the  house  in  every  key.  She 
had  her  physician-in-ordinary,  her  grand  almoner,  her  cham- 
berlain, her  mistress  of  the  robes,  her  prime  minister,  and 
last,  but  by  no  means  least,  her  chancellor — a  chancellor 
whose  aim  it  was  to  keep  her  informed  of  everything.  If  the 
heiress  had  expressed  any  wish  for  a  train-bearer,  they  would 
have  found  one  for  her.  She  was  a  queen,  in  fact,  and  never 
was  queen  so  adroitly  flattered.  A  great  soul  never  stoops  to 
flattery ;  it  is  the  resource  of  little  natures,  who  succeed  in 
making  themselves  smaller  still,  that  they  may  the  better  creep 
into  the  hearts  of  those  about  whom  they  circle.  Flattery, 
by  its  very  nature,  implies  an  interested  motive.  So  the 
people  who  filled  Mile.  Grandet's  sitting-room  every  evening 
(they  addressed  her  and  spoke  of  her  among  themselves  as 
Mile,   de  Froidfond  now)   heaped  their  praises  upon   their 


200  EUG&NIE    GRAND ET. 

hostess  in  a  manner  truly  marvelous.  This  chorus  of  praise 
embarrassed  Eugenie  at  first ;  but  however  gross  the  flattery 
might  be,  she  became  accustomed  to  hear  her  beauty  extolled, 
and  if  some  newcomer  had  considered  her  to  be  plain,  she 
certainly  would  have  winced  more  under  the  criticism  than 
she  might  have  done  eight  years  ago.  She  came  at  last  to 
welcome  their  homage,  which  in  her  secret  heart  she  laid  at 
the  feet  of  her  idol.  So  also,  by  degrees,  she  accepted  the 
position,  and  allowed  herself  to  be  treated  as  a  queen,  and 
saw  her  little  court  full  every  evening. 

M.  le  President  de  Bonfons  was  the  hero  of  the  circle;  they 
lauded  his  talents,  his  personal  appearance,  his  learning,  his 
amiability;  he  was  an  inexhaustible  subject  of  admiring  com- 
ment. Such  an  one  would  call  attention  to  the  fact  that  in 
seven  years  the  magistrate  had  largely  increased  his  fortune ; 
Bonfons  had  at  least  ten  thousand  francs  a  year;  and  his 
property,  like  the  lands  of  all  the  Cruchots  in  fact,  lay  within 
the  compass  of  the  heiress'  vast  estates. 

"Do  you  know,  mademoiselle,"  another  courtier  would 
remark,  "that  the  Cruchots  have  forty  thousand  livres  a  year 
among  them  ! " 

"And  they  are  putting  money  by,"  said  Mile,  de  Gribeau- 
court,  an  old  and  trusty  Cruchotine.  "Quite  lately  a  gentle- 
man came  from  Paris  on  purpose  to  offer  M.  Cruchot  two 
hundred  thousand  francs  for  his  professional  connection.  If 
he  could  gain  an  appointment  as  justice  of  the  peace,  he 
ought  to  take  the  offer." 

"  He  means  to  succeed  M.  de  Bonfons  as  President,  and  is 
taking  steps  to  that  end,"  said  Mme.  d'Orsonval,  "  for  M.  le 
President  will  be  a  councilor,  and  then  a  president  of  a 
court ;  he  is  so  gifted  that  he  is  sure  to  succeed." 

"Yes,"  said  another,  "he  is  a  very  remarkable  man.  Do 
you  not  think  so,  mademoiselle?  " 

"  M.  le  President  "  had  striven  to  act  up  to  the  part  he 
wanted  to  play.     He  was  forty  years  old,  his  countenance  was 


EUG&NIE    GRANDET.  201 

dark  and  ill-favored,  he  had,  moreover,  the  wizened  look 
which  is  frequently  seen  in  men  of  his  profession ;  but  he 
affected  the  airs  of  youth,  sported  a  malacca  cane,  refrained 
from  taking  snuff  in  Mile.  Grandet's  house,  and  went  thither 
arrayed  in  a  white  cravat  and  a  shirt  with  huge  frills,  which 
gave  him  a  quaint  family  resemblance  to  a  turkey-gobbler. 
He  called  the  fair  heiress  "  our  dear  Eugenie,"  and  spoke  as 
if  he  were  an  intimate  friend  of  the  family.  In  fact,  but  for 
the  number  of  those  assembled,  and  the  substitution  of  whist 
for  loto,  and  the  absence  of  M.  and  Mme.  Grandet,  the 
scene  was  scarcely  changed  ;  it  might  almost  have  been  that 
first  evening  on  which  this  story  began. 

The  pack  was  still  in  pursuit  of  Eugenie's  millions  ;  it  was 
a  more  numerous  pack  now  ;  they  gave  tongue  together,  and 
hunted  down  their  prey  more  systematically. 

If  Charles  had  come  back  from  the  far-off  Indies,  he  would 
have  found  the  same  motives  at  work  and  almost  the  same 
people.  Mme.  des  Grassins,  for  whom  Eugdnie  had  nothing 
but  kindness  and  pity,  still  remained  to  vex  the  Cruchots. 
Eugenie's  face  still  shone  out  against  the  dark  background, 
and  Charles  (though  invisible)  reigned  there  supreme  as  in 
other  days. 

Yet  some  advance  had  been  made.  Eugenie's  birthday 
bouquet  was  never  forgotten  by  the  magistrate.  Indeed,  it 
had  become  an  institution  ;  every  evening  he  brought  the 
heiress  a  huge  and  wonderful  bouquet.  Mme.  Cornoiller 
ostentatiously  placed  these  offerings  in  a  vase,  and  promptly 
flung  them  into  a  corner  of  the  yard  as  soon  as  the  visitors 
had  departed. 

In  the  early  spring  Mme.  des  Grassins  made  a  move,  and 
sought  to  trouble  the  felicity  of  the  Cruchotins  by  talking  to 
Eug6nie  of  the  Marquis  de  Froidfond,  whose  ruined  fortunes 
might  be  retrieved  if  the  heiress  would  return  his  estate  to  him 
by  a  marriage  contract.  Mme.  des  Grassins  lauded  the  Mar- 
quis and  his  title  to  the  skies;  and,  taking  Eugenie's  quiet 


202  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

smile  for  consent,  she  went  about  saying  that  M.  le  President 
Cruchot's  marriage  was  not  such  a  settled  thing  as  some  people 
imagined. 

"M.  de  Froidfond  may  be  fifty  years  old,"  she  said,  **  but 
he  looks  no  older  than  M.  Cruchot ;  he  is  a  widower,  and  has 
a  family,  it  is  true  ;  but  he  is  a  marquis,  he  will  be  a  peer  of 
France  one  of  these  days,  it  is  not  such  a  bad  match  as  times 
go.  I  know  of  my  own  certain  knowledge  that  when  old 
Grandet  added  his  own  property  to  the  Froidfond  estate  he 
meant  to  graft  his  family  into  the  Froidfonds.  He  often  told 
me  as  much.  Oh  !  he  was  a  shrewd  old  man,  this  old  man 
Grandet." 

"Ah!  Nanon,"  Eugenie  said  one  evening,  as  she  went  to 
bed,  "why  has  he  not  once  written  to  me  in  seven 
years ! " 

While  these  events  were  taking  place  in  Saumur,  Charles 
was  making  his  fortune  in  the  East.  His  first  venture  was 
very  successful.  He  had  promptly  realized  the  sum  of  six 
thousand  dollars.  Crossing  the  line  had  cured  him  of  many 
early  prejudices ;  he  soon  saw  very  clearly  that  the  best  and 
quickest  way  of  making  money  was  the  same  in  the  tropics  as 
in  Europe — by  buying  and  selling  men.  He  made  a  descent 
on  the  African  coasts  and  bargained  for  negroes  and  other 
goods  in  demand  in  various  markets.  He  threw  himself  heart 
and  soul  into  his  business,  and  thought  of  nothing  else.  He 
set  one  clear  aim  before  him,  to  reappear  in  Paris,  and  to 
dazzle  the  world  there  with  his  wealth,  to  attain  a  position 
even  higher  than  the  one  from  which  he  had  fallen. 

By  dint  of  rubbing  shoulders  with  many  men,  traveling  in 
many  lands,  coming  in  contact  with  various  customs  and 
religions,  his  code  had  been  relaxed,  and  he  had  grown  scep- 
tical. His  notions  of  right  and  wrong  became  less  rigid  when 
he  found  that  what  was  looked  upon  as  a  crime  in  one  country 
was  held  up  to  admiration  in  another.     He  saw  that  every 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  203 

one  was  working  for  himself,  that  disinterestedness  was  rarely 
to  be  met  with,  and  grew  selfish  and  suspicious ;  the  hereditary 
failings  of  the  Grandets  came  out  in  him — the  hardness,  the 
shiftiness,  and  the  greed  of  gain.  He  sold  Chinese  coolies, 
negro  slaves,  swallow-nests,  children,  artists,  and  anything  and 
everything  that  brought  in  money.  He  became  a  money- 
lender on  a  large  scale.  Long  practice  in  cheating  the  custom 
authorities  had  made  him  unscrupulous  in  other  ways.  He 
would  make  the  voyage  to  St.  Thomas,  buy  booty  of  the 
pirates  there  for  a  low  price,  and  sell  the  merchandise  in  the 
dearest  market. 

During  his  first  voyage  Eugenie's  pure  and  noble  face  had 
been  with  him,  like  the  image  of  the  Virgin  which  Spanish 
sailors  set  on  the  prows  of  their  vessels ;  he  had  attributed  his 
first  success  to  a  kind  of  magical  eflScacy  possessed  by  her 
prayers  and  vows ;  but  as  time  went  on,  the  women  of  other 
countries,  negresses,  mulattoes,  white  skins,  and  yellow  skins, 
orgies  and  adventures  in  many  lands,  completely  effaced  all 
recollection  of  his  cousin,  of  Saumur,  of  the  old  house,  of 
the  bench,  and  of  the  kiss  that  he  had  snatched  in  the  passage. 
He  remembered  nothing  but  the  little  garden  shut  in  by  its 
crumbling  walls  where  he  had  learned  the  fate  that  lay  in  store 
for  him  ;  but  he  rejected  all  connection  with  the  family.  His 
uncle  was  an  old  fox  who  had  filched  his  jewels.  Eugenie 
had  no  place  in  his  heart,  he  never  gave  her  a  thought ;  but 
she  occupied  a  page  in  his  ledger  as  a  creditor  for  six  thou- 
sand francs. 

Such  conduct  and  such  ideas  explained  Charles  Grandet's 
silence.  In  the  East  Indies,  at  St.  Thomas,  on  the  coast  of 
Africa,  at  Lisbon,  in  the  United  States,  Charles  Grandet  the 
adventurer  was  known  as  Carl  Sepherd,  a  pseudonym  which 
he  assumed  so  as  not  to  compromise  his  real  name.  Carl 
Sepherd  could  be  indefatigable,  brazen,  and  greedy  of  gain; 
could  conduct  himself,  in  short,  like  a  man  who  resolves  to 
make  a  fortune  quibuscumque  viis,  and  makes  haste  to  have 


204  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

done  with  villainy  as  soon  as  possible,  in  order  to  live  re- 
spected for  the  rest  of  his  days. 

With  such  methods  liis  career  of  prosperity  was  rapid  and 
brilliant,  and  in  1827  he  returned  to  Bordeaux  on  board  the 
Marie  Caroline^  a  fine  brig  belonging  to  a  Royalist  firm.  He 
had  nineteen  hundred  thousand  francs  with  him  in  gold  dust, 
carefully  secreted  in  three  strong  casks ;  he  hoped  to  sell  it  to 
the  Paris  mint,  and  to  make  eight  percent,  on  the  transaction. 
There  was  also  on  board  the  brig  a  gentleman-in-ordinary  to 
his  majesty  Charles  X.,  a  M.  d'Aubrion,  a  worthy  old  man 
who  had  been  rash  enough  to  marry  a  woman  of  fashion  whose 
money  came  from  estates  in  the  West  India  Islands.  Mme. 
d'Aubrion's  reckless  extravagance  had  obliged  him  to  go  out 
to  the  Indies  to  sell  her  property.  M.  and  Mme.  d'Aubrion, 
of  the  house  of  d'Aubrion  de  Buch,  which  had  lost  its  captal 
or  chieftain  just  before  the  Revolution,  were  now  in  straitened 
circumstances.  They  had  a  bare  twenty  thousand  francs  of 
income  and  a  daughter,  a  very  plain  girl,  whom  her  mother 
made  up  her  mind  to  marry  without  a  dowry;  for  life  in 
Paris  is  expensive,  and,  as  has  been  seen,  their  means  were 
reduced.  It  was  an  enterprise  the  success  of  which  might 
have  seemed  somewhat  problematical  to  a  man  of  the  world, 
in  spite  of  the  cleverness  with  which  a  woman  of  fashion  is 
generally  credited.  Perhaps  even  Mme.  d'Aubrion  herself, 
when  she  looked  at  her  daughter,  was  almost  ready  to  despair 
of  getting  rid  of  her  to  any  one,  even  to  the  most  besotted 
worshiper  of  rank  and  titles. 

Mile.  d'Aubrion  was  a  tall,  spare  demoiselle,  somewhat  like 
her  namesake  the  insect ;  she  had  a  disdainful  mouth,  over- 
shadowed by  a  long  nose,  thick  at  the  tip,  sallow  in  its  normal 
condition,  but  very  red  after  a  meal,  an  organic  change  which 
was  all  the  more  unpleasant  by  reason  of  contrast  with  a 
pallid,  insipid  countenance.  From  some  points  of  view  she 
was  all  that  a  worldly  mother,  who  was  thirty-eight  years  of 
age,  and  had  still  some  pretensions  to  beauty,  could  desire. 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  205 

But  by  way  of  compensating  advantages,  the  Marquise 
d'Aubrion's  distinguished  air  had  been  inherited  by  her 
daughter,  and  that  young  lady  had  been  submitted  to  a 
Spartan  regimen,  which  for  the  time  being  subdued  the  offend- 
ing hue  in  her  feature  to  a  reasonable  flesh-tint.  Her  mother 
had  taught  her  how  to  dress  herself.  Under  the  same  in- 
structor she  had  acquired  a  charming  manner,  and  had  learned 
to  assume  that  pensive  expression  which  interests  a  man  and 
leads  him  to  imagine  that  here,  surely,  is  the  angel  for  whom 
he  has  hitherto  sought  in  vain.  She  was  carefully  drilled  in  a 
certain  manoeuvre  with  her  foot — to  let  it  peep  forth  from 
beneath  her  petticoat,  and  so  call  attention  to  its  small  size — 
whenever  her  nose  became  unseasonably  red ;  indeed,  the 
mother  had  made  the  very  best  of  her  daughter.  By  means  of 
large  sleeves,  stiff  skirts,  puffs,  padding,  and  high-pressure 
corsets  she  had  produced  a  highly  curious  and  interesting 
result,  a  specimen  of  femininity  which  ought  to  have  been 
put  into  a  museum  for  the  edification  of  mothers  generally. 

Charles  became  very  intimate  with  Mme.  d'Aubrion  ;  the 
lady  had  her  own  reasons  for  encouraging  him.  People  said 
that  during  the  time  on  board  she  left  no  stone  unturned  to 
secure  such  a  prize  for  a  son-in-law.  It  is  at  any  rate  certain 
that  when  they  landed  at  Bordeaux  Charles  stayed  in  the  same 
hotel  with  M.,  Mme.,  and  Mile.  d'Aubrion,  and  they  all 
traveled  together  to  Paris.  The  hdtel  d'Aubrion  was  ham- 
pered with  mortgages,  and  Charles  was  intended  to  come  to 
the  rescue.  The  mother  had  gone  so  far  as  to  say  that  it 
would  give  her  great  pleasure  to  establish  a  son-in-law  on  the 
ground  floor.  She  did  not  share  M.  d'Aubrion's  aristocratic 
prejudices,  and  promised  Charles  Grandet  to  obtain  letters 
patent  from  that  easy-tempered  monarch,  Charles  X.,  which 
should  authorize  him,  Grandet,  to  bear  the  name  and  assume 
the  arms  of  the  d'Aubrions,  and  (by  purchasing  the  entail)  to 
succeed  to  the  property  of  Aubrion,  which  was  worth  about 
thirty-six  thousand  livres  a  year,  to  say  nothing  of  the  titles 


206  EUGENIE    GRANDET. 

of  Captal  de  Buch  and  Marquis  d'Aubrion,  They  could  be 
very  useful  to  each  other,  in  short ;  and  what  with  this  arrange- 
ment of  a  joint  establishment,  and  one  or  two  posts  about  the 
Court,  the  hotel  d'Aubrion  might  count  upon  an  income  of  a 
hundred  thousand  francs  and  more. 

"And  when  a  man  has  a  hundred  thousand  francs  a  year, 
a  name,  a  family,  and  a  position  at  Court — for  I  shall  procure 
an  appointment  for  you  as  gentleman-of-the-bedchamber — 
the  rest  is  easy.  You  can  be  anything  you  choose  "  (so  she 
instructed  Charles),  "  Master  of  Requests  in  the  Council  of 
State,  Prefect,  Secretary  to  an  Embassy,  the  Ambassador  him- 
self if  you  like.  Charles  X.  is  much  attached  to  d'Aubrion ; 
they  have  known  each  other  from  childhood." 

She  fairly  turned  his  head  with  these  ambitious  schemes, 
and  during  the  voyage  Charles  began  to  cherish  the  hopes  and 
ideas  which  had  been  so  cleverly  insinuated  in  the  form  of 
tender  confidences.  He  never  doubted  but  that  his  uncle  had 
paid  his  father's  creditors;  he  had  been  suddenly  launched 
into  the  society  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  at  that  time 
the  goal  of  social  ambition;  and  beneath  the  shadow  of  Mile. 
Mathilde's  purple  nose,  he  was  shortly  to  appear  as  the  Comte 
d'Aubrion,  very  much  as  the  Dreux  shone  forth  transformed 
into  Brezds.  He  was  dazzled  by  the  apparent  prosperity  of  the 
restored  dynasty,  which  had  seemed  to  be  tottering  to  its  fall 
when  he  left  France  ;  his  head  was  full  of  wild  ambitious 
dreamsj  which  began  on  the  voyage,  and  did  not  leave  him  in 
Paris.  He  resolved  to  strain  every  nerve  to  reach  those  pinna- 
cles of  glory  which  his  egotistical  would-be  mother-in-law 
had  pointed  out  to  him.  His  cousin  was  only  a  dim  speck  in 
the  remote  past ;  she  had  no  place  in  this  brilliant  future,  no 
part  in  his  dreams,  but  he  went  to  see  Annette.  That  experi- 
enced woman  of  the  world  gave  counsel  to  her  old  friend ;  he 
must  by  no  means  let  slip  such  an  opportunity  for  an  alliance ; 
she  promised  to  aid  him  in  all  his  schemes  of  advancement. 
In  her  heart  she  was  delighted  to  see  Charles  thus  secured  to 


EUGENIE    GRANDE T.  207 

such  a  plain  and  uninteresting  girl.  He  had  grown  very 
attractive  during  his  stay  in  the  Indies ;  his  complexion  had 
grown  darker,  he  had  gained  in  manliness  and  self-possesbion  ; 
he  spoke  in  the  firm,  decided  tones  of  a  man  who  is  used  to 
command  and  to  success.  Ever  since  Charles  Grandet  had 
discovered  that  there  was  a  definite  part  for  him  to  play  in 
Paris,  he  was  himself  at  once. 

Des  Grassins,  hearing  of  his  return,  his  approaching  mar- 
riage, and  his  large  fortune,  came  to  see  him,  and  spoke  of  the 
three  hundred  thousand  francs  still  owing  to  his  father's  cred- 
itors. He  found  Charles  closeted  with  a  goldsmith,  from 
whom  he  had  ordered  jewels  for  Mile.  d'Aubrion's  corbeille, 
and  who  was  submitting  designs.  Charles  himself  had  brought 
magnificent  diamonds  from  the  Indies;  but  the  cost  of  setting 
them,  together  with  the  silver  plate  and  jewelry  of  the  new 
establishment,  amounted  to  more  than  two  hundred  thousand 
francs.  He  did  not  recognize  des  Grassins  at  first,  and  treated 
him  with  the  cool  insolence  of  a  young  m.an  of  fashion  who 
is  conscious  that  he  has  killed  four  men  in  as  many  duels  in  the 
Indies.  As  M.  des  Grassins  had  already  called  three  or  four 
times,  Charles  vouchsafed  to  hear  him,  but  it  was  with  bare 
politeness,  and  he  did  not  pay  the  slightest  attention  to  what 
the  banker  said. 

"  My  father's  debts  are  not  mine,"  he  said  coolly.  "  I  am 
obliged  to  you,  sir,  for  the  trouble  you  have  been  good  enough 
to  take,  but  I  am  none  the  better  for  it  that  I  can  see.  I  have 
not  scraped  together  a  couple  of  millions,  earned  with  the 
sweat  of  my  brow,  to  fling  it  to  my  father's  creditors  at  this 
late  day." 

'*  But  suppose  that  your  father  were  to  be  declared  bankrupt 
in  a  few  days'  time  ?  " 

"In  a  few  days'  time  I  shall  be  the  Comte  d'Aubrion, 
sir;  so  you  can  see  that  it  is  a  matter  of  entire  indiffer- 
ence to  me.  Besides,  you  know  even  better  than  I  do  that 
when    a    man    has    a  hundred    thousand    livres   a  year,  his 


208  EUGA.VIE   GRANDET. 

father  never  has  been    a  bankrupt,"   and  he  politely  edged 
the  deputy  des  Grassins  to  the  door. 

In  the  early  days  of  the  month  of  August,  in  that  same 
year,  Eugenie  was  sitting  on  the  little  bench  in  the  garden 
where  her  cousin  had  sworn  eternal  love,  and  where  she 
often  took  breakfast  in  summer  mornings.  The  poor  girl 
was  almost  happy  for  a  few  brief  moments ;  she  went  over 
all  the  great  and  little  events  of  her  love  before  those  catas- 
trophes that  followed.  The  morning  was  fresh  and  bright, 
and  the  garden  was  full  of  sunlight ;  her  eyes  wandered 
over  the  wall  with  its  moss  and  flowers ;  it  was  full  of 
cracks  now,  and  all  but  in  ruins,  but  no  one  was  allowed  to 
touch  it,  though  Cornoiller  was  always  prophesying  to  his 
wife  that  the  whole  thing  would  come  down  and  crush  some- 
body or  other  one  of  these  days.  The  postman  knocked 
at  the  door,  and  gave  a  letter  into  the  hands  of  Mme.  Cor- 
noiller, who  hurried  into  the  garden,  crying,  "  Mademoiselle  ! 
A  letter!  Is  it  the  letter?"  she  added,  as  she  handed  it  to 
her  mistress. 

The  words  rang  through  Eugenie's  heart  as  the  spoken 
sounds  rang  from  the  ramparts  and  the  old  garden  wall. 

"Paris! It  is  his  writing!     Then  he  has  come  back." 

Eugenie's  face  grew  white ;  for  several  seconds  she  kept  the 
seal  unbroken,  for  her  heart  beat  so  fast  that  she  could  neither 
move  nor  see.  Big  Nanon  stood  and  waited  with  both  hands 
on  her  hips  ;  joy  seemed  to  puff  like  smoke  from  every  wrin- 
kle in  her  brown  face. 

"  Do  read  it,  mademoiselle  !  " 

**  Oh  !  why  does  he  come  back  by  way  of  Paris,  Nanon, 
when  he  went  by  way  of  Saumur  ? ' ' 

**  Read  it ;  the  letter  will  tell  you  why." 

Eugenie's  fingers  trembled  as  she  opened  the  envelope ;  a 
check  on  the  firm  of  "  Mme.  des  Grassins  et  Corret,  Saumur," 
fell  out  of  it  and  fluttered  down.     Nanon  picked  it  up. 


EUGENIE    GRANDET.  209 


**My  dear  Cousin " 

("I  am  not  'Eugenie  '  now,"  she  thought,  and  her  heart 
stood  still.)     "You " 

*'  He  used  to  say  thou  /"  She  folded  her  arms  and  dreaded 
to  read  any  further  ;  great  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes. 

"  What  is  it  ?     Is  he  dead  ?  "  asked  Nanon. 

"If  he  were,  he  could  not  write,"  said  Eugenie,  and  she 
read  the  letter  through.     It  ran  as  follows : 

"  My  dear  Cousin  : — You  will,  I  am  sure,  hear  with  pleasure 
of  the  success  of  my  enterprise.  You  brought  me  luck ;  I 
have  come  back  to  France  a  wealthy  man,  as  my  uncle  advised. 
I  have  just  heard  of  his  death,  together  with  that  of  ray  aunt, 
from  M.  des  Grassins.  Our  parents  must  die  in  the  course  of 
nature,  and  we  ourselves  must  follow  them.  I  hope  that  by 
this  time  you  are  consoled  for  your  loss ;  time  cures  all  trouble, 
as  I  know  by  experience.  Yes,  my  dear  cousin,  the  day  of 
illusions  has  gone  by  for  me.  I  am  sorry,  but  it  cannot  be 
helped.  I  have  knocked  about  the  world  so  much,  and  seen 
so  much,  that  I  have  been  led  to  reflect  on  life.  I  was  a  child 
when  I  went  away ;  I  have  come  back  a  man,  and  I  have 
many  things  to  think  about  now  which  I  did  not  even  dream 
of  then.  You  are  free,  my  cousin,  and  I  too  am  free  still ; 
there  is  apparently  nothing  to  hinder  the  realization  of  our 
youthful  hopes,  but  I  am  too  straightforward  to  hide  my  pres- 
ent situation  from  you.  I  have  not  for  a  moment  forgotten 
that  I  am  bound  to  you ;  through  all  my  wanderings  I  have 
always  remembered  the  little  wooden  bench " 

Eugenie  started  up  as  if  she  were  sitting  on  burning  coals, 
and  sat  down  on  one  of  the  broken  stone  steps  in  the 
yard. 

— "  the  little  wooden  bench  where  we  vowed  to  love  each 
other  for  ever ;  the  passage,  the  gray  parlor,  my  attic  room, 
14 


210  eugAnie  grandet. 

the  night  when  in  your  thoughtfulness  and  tact  you  made  my 
future  easier  to  me.  Yes,  these  memories  have  been  my  sup- 
port ;  I  have  said  in  my  heart  that  you  were  always  thinking 
of  me  when  I  thought  of  you  at  the  hour  we  had  agreed  upon. 
Did  you  not  look  out  into  the  darkness  at  nine  o'clock?  Yes, 
I  am  sure  you  did.  I  would  not  prove  false  to  so  sacred  a  friend- 
ship ;  I  cannot  deal  insincerely  with  you. 

**  A  marriage  has  been  proposed  to  me,  which  is  in  every 
way  satisfactory  to  my  mind.  Love  in  a  marriage  is  romantic 
nonsense.  Experience  has  clearly  shown  me  that  in  marrying 
we  must  obey  social  laws  and  conform  to  conventional  ideas. 
There  is  some  difference  of  age  between  you  and  me,  which 
would  perhaps  be  more  likely  to  affect  your  future  than  mine, 
and  there  are  other  differences  of  which  I  need  not  speak ; 
your  bringing  up,  your  ways  of  life,  and  your  tastes  have  not 
fitted  you  for  Parisian  life,  nor  would  they  harmonize  with 
the  future  which  I  have  marked  out  for  myself.  For  instance, 
it  is  a  part  of  my  plan  to  maintain  a  great  household,  and  to 
see  a  good  deal  of  society;  and  you,  I  am  sure,  from  my 
recollections  of  you,  would  prefer  a  quiet,  domestic  life  and 
home-keeping  ways.  No,  I  will  be  open  with  you;  I  will 
abide  by  your  decision ;  but  I  must  first,  however,  lay  all 
the  facts  of  the  case  before  you,  that  you  may  the  better 
judge. 

"  I  possess  at  the  time  of  writing  an  income  of  eighty  thou- 
sand livres.  With  this  fortune  I  am  able  to  marry  into  the 
d' Aubrion  family ;  I  should  take  their  name  on  my  marriage 
with  their  only  daughter,  a  girl  of  nineteen,  and  secure  at  the 
same  time  a  very  brilliant  position  in  society,  and  the  post  of 
gentleman-of-the-bedchamber.  I  will  assure  you  at  once,  my 
dear  cousin,  that  I  have  not  the  slightest  affection  for  Mile. 
d'Aubrion,  but  by  this  marriage  I  shall  secure  for  my  children 
a  social  rank  which  will  be  of  inestimable  value  in  the  future. 
Monarchical  principles  are  daily  gaining  ground.  A  few  years 
hence  my  son,  the  Marquis  d'Aubrion,  would  have  an  entailed 


eugAnie  GRANDET.  211 

estate  and  a  yearly  rental  of  forty  thousand  livres ;  with  such 
advantages  there  would  be  no  position  to  which  he  might  not 
aspire.     We  ought  to  live  for  our  children. 

"You  see,  my  cousin,  how  candidly  I  am  laying  the  state- 
of  my  heart,  ray  hopes,  and  my  fortunes  before  you.  Perhaps 
after  seven  years  of  separation  you  may  yourself  have  forgotten- 
our  childish  love  affair,  but  I  have  never  forgotten  your  good- 
ness or  my  promise.  A  less  conscientious,  a  less  upright  man,, 
with  a  heart  less  youthful  than  mine,  might  scarcely  feel  him- 
self bound  by  it;  but  for  me  a  promise,  however  lightly  given, 
is  sacred.  When  I  tell  you  plainly  that  my  marriage  is  solely 
a  marriage  of  suitability,  and  that  I  have  not  forgotten  the 
love  of  our  youthful  days,  am  I  not  putting  myself  entirely 
into  your  hands,  and  making  you  the  arbitress  of  my  fate? 
Is  it  not  implied  that  if  I  must  renounce  my  social  ambitions, 
I  shall  willingly  content  myself  with  the  simple  and  pure  hap- 
piness which  is  always  called  up  by  the  thought  of  you '^ 

"Tra-la-la-tan-ta-ti !  "  sang  Charles  Grandet  to  the  air  of 
Non  piii  andrai,  as  he  signed  himself, 

"Your  devoted  cousin, 

"Charles." 

"  By  Jove  !  that  is  acting  handsomely,"  he  said  to  himself. 
He  looked  about  him  for  the  cheque,  slipped  it  in,  and  added 
a  postscript. 

"  P.S. — I  enclose  a  cheque  on  Mme.  des  Grassins  for  eight 
thousand  francs,  payable  in  gold  to  your  order,  comprising 
the  capital  and  interest  of  the  sum  you  were  so  kind  to  ad- 
vance me.  I  am  expecting  a  case  from  Bordeaux  which  con- 
tains a  few  things  which  you  must  allow  me  to  send  you  as  a 
token  of  my  unceasing  gratitude.  You  can  send  my  dressing- 
case  by  the  diligence  to  the  Hotel  d'Aubrion,  Rue  Hillerin- 
Bertin." 


212  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

**  By  the  diligence  I  "  cried  Eugenie,  *'  when  I  would  have 
given  my  life  for  it  a  thousand  times  !  " 

Terrible  and  complete  shipwreck  of  hope ;  the  vessel  had 
gone  down,  there  was  not  a  spar,  not  a  plank  in  the  vast  ocean. 
There  are  women  who  when  their  lover  forsakes  them  will 
drag  him  from  a  rival's  arms  and  murder  her,  and  fly  for 
refuge  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  to  the  scaffold,  or  the  grave. 
There  is  a  certain  grandeur  in  this  no  doubt ;  there  is  some- 
thing so  sublime  in  the  passion  of  indignation  which  prompts 
the  crime,  that  man's  justice  is  awed  into  silence ;  but  there 
are  other  women  who  suffer  and  bow  their  heads.  They  go 
on  their  way,  submissive  and  broken-hearted,  weeping  and 
forgiving,  praying  till  their  last  sigh  for  him  whom  they  never 
forget.  And  this  no  less  is  love,  love  such  as  the  angels 
know,  love  that  bears  itself  proudly  in  anguish,  that  lives 
by  the  secret  pain  of  which  it  dies  at  last.  This  was  to  be 
Eugdnie's  love  now  that  she  had  read  that  horrible  letter. 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  the  sky  and  thought  of  her  mother's 
prophetic  words,  uttered  in  the  moment  of  clear  vision  that  is 
sometimes  given  to  dying  eyes;  and  as  she  thought  of  her 
mother's  life  and  death,  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  looking 
out  over  her  own  future.  There  was  nothing  left  to  her  now 
but  to  live  prayerfully  till  the  day  of  her  deliverance  should 
come  and  the  soul  spread  its  wings  for  heaven. 

"My  mother  was  right,"  she  said,  weeping.  "  Suffer — and 
die." 

She  went  slowly  from  the  garden  into  the  house,  avoiding 
the  passage ;  but  when  she  came  into  the  old  gray  parlor,  it 
was  full  of  memories  of  her  cousin.  On  the  chimney-piece 
there  stood  a  certain  china  saucer,  which  she  used  every 
morning,  and  the  old  Sdvres  sugar  basin. 

It  was  to  be  a  memorable  and  eventful  day  for  Eugdnie. 
Nanon  announced  the  cur6  of  the  parish  church.  He  was 
related  to  the  Cruchots,  and  therefore  in  the  interests  of  the 
President  de  Bonfons.     For  some  days  past  the  Abb6  had 


EUGENIE    GRANDET.  213 

urged  the  cure  to  speak  seriously  to  Mile.  Grandet  about  the 
duty  of  marriage  from  a  religious  point  of  view  for  a  woman 
in  her  position.  Eugenie,  seeing  her  pastor,  fancied  that  he 
had  come  for  the  thousand  francs  which  she  gave  him  every 
month  for  the  poor  of  his  parish,  and  sent  Nanon  for  the 
money;  but  the  curate  began  with  a  smile,  "To-day,  mademoi- 
selle, I  have  come  to  take  counsel  with  you  about  a  poor  girl 
in  whom  all  Saumur  takes  an  interest,  and  who,  through  lack 
of  charity  to  herself,  is  not  living  as  a  Christian  should." 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  M.  le  Cure,  just  now  I  can  think  of  nobody  but 
myself.  I  am  very  miserable,  my  only  refuge  is  in  the  Church ; 
her  heart  is  large  enough  to  hold  all  human  sorrows,  her  love 
so  inexhaustible  that  we  need  never  fear  to  drain  it  dry." 

"Well,  mademoiselle,  when  we  speak  of  this  girl,  we  shall 
speak  of  you.  Listen  !  If  you  v.-ould  fain  work  out  your 
salvation,  there  are  but  two  ways  open  to  you :  you  must  either 
leave  the  world  or  live  in  the  world  and  submit  to  its  laws 
— you  must  choose  between  the  earthly  and  the  heavenly 
vocation." 

"  Ah  1  your  voice  speaks  to  me  when  I  need  to  hear  a  voice. 
Yes,  God  has  sent  you  to  me.  I  will  bid  the  world  farewell, 
and  live  for  God  alone,  in  silence  and  seclusion." 

"But,  my  daughter,  you  should  think  long  and  prayerfully 
before  taking  so  strong  a  measure.  Marriage  is  life ;  the  veil 
and  the  convent  is  death." 

"Yes,  death.  Ah!  if  death  would  only  come  quickly, 
M.  le  Cur6,"  she  said,  with  dreadful  eagerness. 

"Death?  But  you  have  great  obligations  to  fulfill  towards 
society,  mademoiselle.  There  is  your  family  of  poor,  to  whom 
you  give  clothes  and  firing  in  winter  and  work  in  summer. 
Your  great  fortune  is  a  loan,  of  which  you  must  give  account 
one  day.  You  have  always  looked  on  it  as  a  sacred  trust.  It 
would  be  selfish  to  bury  yourself  in  a  convent,  and  you  ought 
not  to  live  alone  in  the  world.  In  the  first  place,  how  can 
you  endure   the  burden  of  your  vast  fortune  alone?    You 


214  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

might  lose  it.  You  will  be  involved  in  endless  litigation ; 
you  will  find  yourself  in  difficulties  from  which  you  will  not 
be  able  to  extricate  yourself.  Take  your  pastor's  word,  a 
husband  is  useful ;  you  ought  not  to  lose  what  God  has  given 
into  your  charge.  I  speak  to  you  as  to  a  cherished  lamb  of 
my  flock.  You  love  God  too  sincerely  to  find  hindrances  to 
your  salvation  in  tlie  world ;  you  are  one  of  its  fairest  orna- 
ments, and  should  remain  in  it  as  an  example  of  holiness." 

At  this  point  Mme.  des  Grassins  was  announced.  The 
(banker's  wife  was  smarting  under  a  grievous  disappointment, 
^nd  thirsted  for  revenge. 

"Mademoiselle "    she   began.     "Oh!    M.  le  Cure  is 

here 1   will   say  no   more  then.     I  came  to  speak  about 

some  matters  of  business,  but  I  see  you  are  deep  in  something 
else." 

"  Madame,"  said  the  cure,  "  I  leave  the  field  to  you." 

"  Oh  !  M.  le  Cure,  pray  come  back  again  ;  I  stand  in  great 
need  of  your  help  just  now. ' ' 

"  Yes,  indeed,  my  poor  child  !  "  said  Mme.  des  Grassins. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Eugenie  and  the  cure  both 
together. 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  I  haven't  heard  that  your  cousin  has 
come  back,  and  is  going  to  marry  Mile.  d'Aubrion  ?  A 
woman  doesn't  go  about  with  her  wits  in  her  pocket." 

Eugenie  was  silent,  there  was  a  red  flush  on  her  face,  but 
she  made  up  her  mind  at  once  that  henceforward  no  one 
should  learn  anything  from  her,  and  looked  as  impenetrable 
as  her  father  used  to  do. 

"Well,  madame,"  she  said,  with  a  tinge  of  bitterness  in 
her  tones,  "  it  seems  that  I,  at  any  rate,  carry  my  wits  in  ray 
pocket,  for  I  am  quite  at  a  loss  to  understand  you.  Speak 
out  and  explain  yourself;  you  can  speak  freely  before  M.  le 
Cur6,  he  is  my  director,  as  you  know." 

"  Well,  then,  mademoiselle,  see  for  yourself  what  des  Gras- 
sins says.     Here  is  the  letter." 


EUGENIE    GRANDET.  216 

Eugenie  read : 

"  My  DEAR  Wife  : — Charles  Grandet  has  returned  from  the 
Indies,  and  has  been  in  Paris  these  two  months " 

"Two  months!"  said  Eugdnie  to  herself,  and  her  hand 
fell  to  her  side.     After  a  moment  she  went  on  reading : 

**  I  had  to  dance  attendance  on  him,  and  called  twice  be- 
fore the  future  Comte  d'Aubrion  would  condescend  to  see  me. 
AH  Paris  is  talking  about  his  marriage,  and  the  banns  are 
published " 

"And  he  wrote  to  me  after  that?"  Eugenie  said  to  her- 
self. She  did  not  round  off  the  sentence  as  a  Parisienne 
would  have  done,  with  "  Wretch  that  he  is  !  "  but  her  scorn 
was  not  one  whit  the  less  because  it  was  unexpressed. 

— "  but  it  will  be  a  good  while  yet  before  he  marries  ;  it  is  not 
likely  that  the  Marquis  d'Aubrion  will  give  his  daughter  to  the 
son  of  a  bankrupt  wine  merchant.  I  called  and  told  him  of 
all  the  trouble  we  had  been  at,  his  uncle  and  I,  in  the  matter 
of  his  father's  failure,  and  of  our  clever  dodges  that  had  kept 
the  creditors  quiet  so  far.  The  insolent  puppy  had  the  effron- 
tery to  say  to  me — to  me,  who  for  five  years  have  toiled  day 
and  night  in  his  interest  and  to  save  his  credit — that  his 
father's  affairs  were  not  his  !  A  solicitor  would  have  wanted 
thirty  or  forty  thousand  francs  of  him  in  fees  at  the  rate  of 
one  per  cent,  on  the  total  of  the  debt !  But,  patience  ! 
There  is  something  that  he  does  owe,  however,  and  that  the 
kw  shall  make  him  pay,  that  is  to  say,  twelve  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  to  his  father's  creditors,  and  I  shall  declare  his 
father  bankrupt.  I  mixed  myself  up  in  this  affair  on  the  word 
of  that  old  crocodile  of  a  Grandet,  and  I  have  given  promises 
in  the  name  of  the  family,  M.  le  Comte  d'Aubrion  may  not 
care  for  his  honor,  but  I  care  a  good  deal  for  mine !     So  I 


216  EUGENIE    GRANDET. 

shall  just  explain  my  position  to  the  creditors.  Still,  I  have 
too  much  respect  for  Mile.  Eugenie  (with  whom,  in  happier 
days,  we  hoped  to  be  more  closely  connected)  to  take  any 
steps  before  you  have  spoken  to  her " 

There  Eugenie  paused,  and  quietly  returned  the  letter. 

"  I  am  obliged  to  you,"  she  said  to  Mme.  des  Grassins. 
"  We  shall  see " 

"Your  voice  was  exactly  like  your  father's  just  then,"  ex- 
claimed Mme.  des  Grassins. 

'*  Madame,"  put  in  Nanon,  producing  Charles'  cheque, 
"you  have  eight  thousand  francs  to  pay  us." 

"  True.  Be  so  good  as  to  come  with  me,  Mme.  Cor- 
noiller." 

"  M.  le  Cur6,"  said  Eugenie,  with  a  noble  composure  that 
came  of  the  thought  which  prompted  her,  "  would  it  be  a  sin 
to  remain  in  a  state  of  virginity  after  marriage  ?  " 

**  It  is  a  case  of  conscience  which  I  cannot  solve.  If  you 
care  to  know  what  the  celebrated  Sanchez  says  in  his  great 
work,  De  Matri?nonio,  I  could  inform  you  to-morrow." 

The  cure  took  leave.  Mile.  Grandet  went  up  to  her 
father's  room  and  spent  the  day  there  by  herself;  she  would 
not  even  come  down  to  dinner,  though  Nanon  begged  and 
scolded.  She  appeared  in  the  evening  at  the  hour  when  the 
usual  company  began  to  arrive.  The  gray  parlor  in  the 
Grandet's  house  had  never  been  so  well  filled  as  it  was  that 
night.  Every  soul  in  the  town  knew  by  that  time  of  Charles' 
return,  and  of  his  faithlessness  and  ingratitude ;  but  their 
inquisitive  curiosity  was  not  to  be  gratified.  Eugenie  was  a 
little  late,  but  no  one  saw  any  traces  of  the  cruel  agitation 
through  which  she  had  passed  ;  she  could  smile  benignly  in 
reply  to  the  compassionate  looks  and  words  which  some  of 
the  group  thought  fit  to  bestow  on  her;  she  bore  her  pain 
behind  a  mask  of  politeness. 

About  nine  o'clock  the  card-players  drew  away  from  the 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  217 

tables,  paid  their  losses,  and  criticised  the  game  and  the  vari- 
ous points  that  had  been  made.  Just  as  there  was  a  general 
move  in  the  direction  of  the  door,  an  unexpected  develop- 
ment took  place ;  the  news  of  it  rang  through  Saumur  and 
four  prefectures  round  about  for  days  after. 

"Please  stay,  M.  le  President." 

There  was  not  a  person  in  the  room  who  did  not  thrill  with 
excitement  at  the  words ;  M.  de  Bonfons,  who  was  about  to 
take  his  cane,  turned  quite  white,  and  sat  down  again. 

"The  President  takes  the  millions,"  said  Mile,  de 
Gribeaucourt. 

"It  is  quite  clear  that  President  de  Bonfons  is  going  to 
marry  Mile.  Grandet,"  cried  Mme.  d'Orsonval. 

"The  best  trick  of  the  game  !  "  commented  the  Abbe. 

"A  very  pretty  slam,^'  said  the  notary. 

Every  one  said  his  say  and  cut  his  joke,  every  one  thought 
of  the  heiress  mounted  upon  her  millions  as  if  she  were  on  a 
pedestal.  Here  was  the  catastrophe  of  the  drama,  begun 
nine  years  ago,  taking  place  under  their  eyes.  To  tell  the 
President  in  the  face  of  all  Saumur  to  "  stay  "  was  as  good  as 
announcing  at  once  that  she  meant  to  take  the  magistrate  for 
her  husband.  Social  conventionalities  are  rigidly  observed  in 
little  country  towns,  and  such  an  infraction  as  this  was  looked 
upon  as  a  binding  promise. 

"  M.  le  President,"  Eugenie  began  in  an  unsteady  voice, 
as  soon  as  they  were  alone,  "  I  know  what  you  care  about  in 
me.  Swear  to  leave  me  free  till  the  end  of  my  life,  to  claim 
none  of  the  rights  which  marriage  will  give  you  over  me,  and 
my  hand  is  yours.  Oh  !  "  she  said,  seeing  him  about  to  fall 
on  his  knees,  "  I  have  not  finished  yet.  I  must  tell  you 
frankly  that  there  are  memories  in  my  heart  which  can  never 
be  effaced  ;  that  friendship  is  all  that  I  can  give  my  husband  ; 
I  wish  neither  to  affront  him  nor  to  be  disloyal  to  my  own 
heart.  But  you  shall  only  have  my  hand  and  fortune  at  the 
price  of  an  immense  service  which  I  want  you  to  do  me." 


218  EUGENIE   GRAND ET. 

"Anything,  I  will  do  anything,"  said  the  president. 

"  Here  are  fifteen  hundred  thousand  francs,  M.  le  Pr6si- 
dent,"  she  said,  drawing  from  her  bodice  a  certificate  for  a 
hundred  shares  in  the  Bank  of  France;  "will  you  set  out  for 
Paris?  You  must  not  even  wait  till  the  morning,  but  go  at 
once,  to-night.  You  must  go  straight  to  M.  des  Grassins,  ask 
him  for  a  list  of  my  uncle's  creditors,  call  them  together,  and 
discharge  all  outstanding  claims  upon  Guillaume  Grandet's 
estate.  Let  the  creditors  have  capital  and  interest  at  five  per 
cent,  from  the  day  the  debts  were  contracted  to  the  present 
time;  and  see  that  in  every  case  a  receipt  in  full  is  given,  and 
that  it  is  made  out  in  proper  form.  You  are  a  magistrate, 
you  are  the  only  person  whom  I  feel  that  I  can  trust  in  such  a 
case.  You  are  a  gentleman  and  a  man  of  honor ;  you  have 
given  me  your  word,  and,  protected  by  your  name,  I  will 
make  the  perilous  voyage  of  life.  We  shall  know  how  to 
make  allowances  for  each  other,  for  we  have  been  acquainted 
for  so  long  that  it  is  almost  as  if  we  were  related,  and  I  am 
sure  you  would  not  wish  to  make  me  unhappy." 

The  president  fell  on  his  knees  at  the  feet  of  the  rich  heiress 
in  a  paroxysm  of  joy. 

"  I  will  be  your  slave  !  "  he  said. 

"  When  all  the  receipts  are  in  your  possession,  sir,"  she 
went  on,  looking  quietly  at  him,  "you  must  take  them,  to- 
gether with  the  bills,  to  my  cousin  Grandet,  and  give  them 
to  him  with  this  letter.  When  you  come  back,  I  will  keep 
my  word." 

Tlie  president  understood  the  state  of  affairs  perfectly  well. 
"She  is  accepting  me  out  of  pique,"  he  thought,  and  he 
hastened  to  do  Mile.  Grandet's  bidding  with  all  possible  speed, 
for  fear  some  chance  might  bring  about  a  reconciliation  be- 
tween the  lovers. 

As  soon  as  M.  de  Bonfons  left  her,  Eugenie  sank  into  her 
chair  and  burst  into  tears.  All  was  over,  and  this  was  the 
end. 


EUGENIE   GRANDE  T.  219 

The  president  traveled  post-haste  to  Paris  and  reached  his 
journey's  end  on  the  following  evening.  The  next  morning 
he  went  to  des  Grassins,  and  arranged  for  a  meeting  of  the 
creditors  in  the  office  of  the  notary  with  whom  the  bills  had 
been  deposited.  Every  man  of  them  appeared,  every  man  of 
them  was  punctual  to  a  moment — one  should  give  even  cred- 
itors their  dues. 

M.  de  Bonfons,  in  Mile.  Grandet's  name,  paid  down  the 
money  in  full,  both  capital  and  interest.  They  were  paid  in- 
terest !  It  was  an  amazing  portent,  a  nine  days'  wonder  in 
the  business  world  of  Paris.  After  the  whole  affair  had  been 
wound  up,  and  when,  by  Eugenie's  desire,  des  Grassins  had 
received  fifty  thousand  francs  for  his  services,  the  president 
betook  himself  to  the  Hotel  d' Aubrion,  and  was  lucky  enough 
to  find  Charles  at  home,  and  in  disgrace  with  his  future  father- 
in-law.  The  old  Marquis  had  just  informed  that  gentleman 
that  until  Guillaume  Grandet's  creditors  were  satisfied,  a  mar- 
riage with  his  daughter  was  not  to  be  thought  of. 

To  Charles,  thus  despondent,  the  president  delivered  the 
following  letter : 

*'  Dear  Cousin  : — M.  le  President  de  Bonfons  has  under- 
taken to  hand  you  a  discharge  of  all  claims  against  my  uncle's 
estate,  and  to  deliver  it  in  person,  together  with  this  letter,  so 
that  I  may  know  that  it  is  safely  in  your  hands.  I  heard 
rumors  of  bankruptcy,  and  it  occurred  to  me  that  difficulties 
might  possibly  arise  as  a  consequence  in  the  matter  of  your 
marriage  with  Mile,  d' Aubrion.  Yes,  cousin,  you  are  quite 
right  about  my  tastes  and  manners ;  I  have  lived,  as  you  say, 
so  entirely  out  of  the  world  that  I  know  nothing  of  its  ways 
or  its  calculations,  and  my  companionship  could  never  make 
up  to  you  for  the  loss  of  the  pleasures  that  you  look  to  find  in 
society.  I  hope  that  you  will  be  happy  according  to  the  social 
conventions  to  which  you  have  sacrificed  our  early  love.  The 
only  thing  in  my  power  to  give  you  to  complete  your  happi- 


220  EUGENIE   GRANDET. 

ness  is  your  father's  good  name.     Farewell ;  you  will  always 
find  a  faithful  friend  in  your  cousin,  Eugenie." 

In  spite  of  himself  an  exclamation  broke  from  the  man  of 
social  ambitions  when  his  eyes  fell  on  the  discharge  and  re- 
ceipts.    The  president  smiled. 

"  We  can  each  announce  our  marriage,"  said  he. 

"Oh!  you  are  to  marry  Eugenie,  are  you?  Well,  I  am 
glad  to  hear  it ;  she  is  a  kind-hearted  girl.  Why  !  "  struck 
with  a  sudden  luminous  idea,  "  she  must  be  rich  ?  " 

"Four  days  ago  she  had  about  nineteen  millions,"  the 
president  said,  w^ith  a  malicious  twinkle  in  his  eyes  ;  "  to-day 
she  has  only  seventeen." 

Charles  was  dum founded  ;  he  stared  at  the  president. 

"  Seventeen  mil " 

"Seventeen  millions.  Yes,  sir;  when  we  are  married. 
Mile.  Grandet  and  I  shall  muster  seven  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  livres  a  year  between  us." 

"  My  dear  cousin,"  said  Charles,  with  some  return  of  assur- 
ance, "  we  shall  be  able  to  push  each  other's  fortunes." 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  president.  "  There  is  something  else 
here,"  he  added,  "  a  little  case  that  I  was  to  give  only  in  your 
hands,"  and  he  set  down  a  box  containing  the  dressing-case 
upon  the  table. 

The  door  opened,  and  in  came  Mme.  la  Marquise  d'Au- 
brion ;  the  great  lady  seemed  to  be  unaware  of  Cruchot's 
existence.  "Look  here  !  dear,"  she  said,  "  never  mind  what 
that  absurd  M.  d' Aubrion  has  been  saying  to  you ;  the  Duch- 
esse  de  Chaulieu  has  quite  turned  his  head.  I  repeat  it,  there 
is  nothing  to  prevent  your  marriage " 

"Nothing,  madame,"  answered  Charles.  "The  three 
millions  which  my  father  owed  were  paid  yesterday." 

"  In  money  ?  "  she  asked. 

"In  full,  capital  and  interest;  I  mean  to  rehabilitate  his 
memory. '  * 


BUG  A  AVE   GRANDE  T.  221 

"What  nonsense!"  cried  Mme.  la  Marquise  d'Aubrion. 
*'Who  is  this  person?"  she  asked  in  Charles'  ear,  as  she 
saw  Cruchot  for  the  first  time. 

"  My  man  of  business,"  he  answered  in  a  low  voice.  The 
Marquise  gave  M.  de  Bonfons  a  disdainful  bow,  and  left  the 
room. 

'*  We  are  beginning  to  push  each  other's  fortunes  already," 
said  the  president  dryly,  as  he  took  up  his  hat.  "  Good-day, 
cousin." 

"  The  old  cockatoo  from  Saumur  is  laughing  at  me ;  I  have 
a  great  mind  to  make  him  swallow  six  inches  of  cold  steel," 
thought  Charles. 

But  the  president  had  departed. 

Three  days  later  M.  de  Bonfons  was  back  in  Saumur  again, 
and  announced  his  marriage  with  Eugenie,  After  about  six 
months  he  received  his  appointment  as  Councilor  to  the 
Court-Royal  at  Angers,  and  they  went  thither.  But  before 
Eugenie  left  Saumur  she  melted  down  the  trinkets  that  had 
long  been  so  sacred  and  so  dear  a  trust,  and  gave  them,  to- 
gether with  the  eight  thousand  francs  which  her  cousin  had 
returned  to  her,  to  make  a  recredos  for  the  altar  in  the  parish 
church  whither  she  had  gone  so  often  to  pray  to  God  for  him. 
Henceforward  her  life  was  spent  partly  at  Angers,  partly  at 
Saumur.  Her  husband's  devotion  to  the  government  at  a 
political  crisis  was  rewarded ;  he  was  made  President  of  the 
Chamber,  and  finally  First  President.  Then  he  awaited  a 
general  election  with  impatience ;  he  had  visions  of  a  place  in 
the  government ;  he  had  dreams  of  a  peerage ;  and  then,  and 
then 

"Then  he  would  call  cousins  with  the  king,  I  suppose?" 
said  Nanon,  big  Nanon,  Mme.  Cornoiller,  wife  of  a  burgess 
of  Saumur,  when  her  mistress  told  her  of  these  lofty  ambitions 
and  high  destinies. 

Yet,  after  all,  none  of  these  ambitious  dreams  were  to  be  real- 


222  EUGENIE    GRANDET. 

ized,  and  the  name  of  M.  de  Bonfons  (he  had  finally  dropped 
the  patronymic  Cruchot)  was  to  undergo  no  further  transforma- 
tion. He  died  only  eight  days  after  his  appointment  as 
deputy  of  Saumur.  God,  who  sees  all  hearts,  and  who  never 
strikes  without  cause,  punished  him,  doubtless,  for  his  pre- 
sumptuous schemes,  and  for  the  lawyer's  cunning  with  which, 
accurante  Cruchot,  he  drafted  his  own  marriage  contract ;  in 
w^hich  husband  and  wife,  in  case  there  was  no  issue  of  the  mar- 
riage, bequeathed  to  each  other  all  their  property ,  both  real  estate 
and  personalty,  without  exception  or  reservation,  dispensing  even 
with  the  formality  of  an  inventory,  provided  that  the  omission  of 
the  said  inventory  should  not  injure  their  heirs  and  assigns,  it 
being  understood  tliat  this  deed  of  gift,  etc.,  etc.,  a  clause  which 
may  throw  some  light  on  the  profound  respect  with  which 
the  president  constantly  showed  for  his  wife's  desire  to  live 
apart.  Women  cited  M.  le  Premier  President  as  one  of  the 
most  delicately  considerate  of  men,  and  pitied  him,  and  often 
went  so  far  as  to  blame  Eugenie  for  clinging  to  her  passion 
and  her  sorrow  ;  mingling,  according  to  their  wont,  cruel 
insinuations  with  their  criticisms  of  the  president's  wife. 

"If  Mme.  de  Bonfons  lives  apart  from  her  husband,  she 
must  be  in  very  bad  health,  poor  thing.  Is  she  likely  to 
recover  ?  What  can  be  the  matter  with  her  ?  Is  it  cancer  or 
gastritis,  or  what  is  it  ?  Why  does  she  not  go  to  Paris  and 
see  some  specialist  ?  She  has  looked  very  sallow  for  a  long 
time  past.  How  can  she  not  wish  to  have  a  child  ?  They 
say  she  is  very  fond  of  her  husband ;  why  not  give  him  an 
heir  in  his  position  ?  Do  you  know,  it  is  really  dreadful  ! 
If  it  is  only  some  notion  which  she  has  taken  into  her  head, 
it  is  unpardonable.     Poor  president !  " 

There  is  a  certain  keen  insight  and  quick  apprehensiveness 
that  is  the  gift  of  a  lonely  and  meditative  life — and  loneliness, 
and  sorrow,  and  the  discipline  of  the  last  few  years  had  given 
Eugenie  this  clairvoyance  of  the  narrow  lot.  She  knew 
within  herself  that  the  president  was  anxious  for  her  death 


EUGENIE   GRANDET.  223 

that  he  might  be  the  sole  possessor  of  the  colossal  fortune, 
now  still  further  increased  by  the  deaths  of  the  Abbe  and  the 
notary,  whom  Providence  had  lately  seen  fit  to  promote  from 
works  to  rewards.  The  poor  solitary  woman  understood 
and  pitied  the  president.  Unworthy  hopes  and  selfish  calcu- 
lations were  his  strongest  motives  for  respecting  Eugenie's 
hopeless  passion.  To  give  life  to  a  child  would  be  death  to 
the  egoistical  dreams  and  ambitions  that  the  president  hugged 
within  himself;  was  it  for  all  these  things  that  his  career  was 
cut  short?  while  she  must  remain  in  her  prison  house,  and 
the  coveted  gold  for  which  she  cared  so  little  was  to  be 
heaped  upon  her.  It  was  she  who  was  to  live,  with  the 
thought  of  heaven  always  before  her,  and  holy  thoughts  for 
her  companions,  to  give  help  and  comfort  secretly  to  those 
who  were  in  distress.  Mme.  de  Bonfons  was  left  a  widow 
three  years  after  her  marriage,  with  an  income  of  eight  hun- 
dred thousand  livres. 

She  is  beautiful  still,  with  the  beauty  of  a  woman  who  is 
nearly  forty  years  of  age.  Her  face  is  very  pale  and  quiet 
now,  and  there  is  a  tinge  of  sadness  in  the  low  tones  of 
her  voice.  She  has  simple  manners,  all  the  dignity  of  one 
who  has  passed  through  great  sorrows,  and  the  saintliness  of  a 
soul  unspotted  by  the  world  ;  and,  no  less,  the  rigidness  of  an 
old  maid,  the  little  penurious  ways  and  narrow  ideas  of  a  dull 
country  town. 

Although  she  has  eight  hundred  thousand  livres  a  year, 
she  lives  just  as  she  used  to  do  in  the  days  of  stinted 
allowances  of  fuel  and  food  while  she  was  still  Eugenie 
Grandet ;  the  fire  is  never  lighted  in  the  parlor  before  or  after 
the  dates  fixed  by  her  father,  all  the  regulations  in  force  in 
the  days  of  her  girlhood  are  still  adhered  to.  She  dresses  as 
her  mother  did.  That  cold,  sunless,  dreary  house,  always 
overshadowed  by  the  dark  ramparts,  is  like  her  own  life. 

She  looks  carefully  after  her  affairs ;  her  wealth  accumulates 
from  year  to  year ;  perhaps  she  might  even  be  called  parsi- 


224  EUGExVIE    GRAiXDET. 

monious,  if  it  were  not  for  the  noble  use  she  makes  of  her 
fortune.  Various  pious  and  charitable  institutions,  alms- 
houses, and  orphan  asylums,  a  richly  endowed  public  library, 
and  donations  to  various  churches  in  Saumur,  are  a  sufficient 
answer  to  the  charge  of  avarice  which  some  few  people  have 
brought  against  her. 

They  sometimes  speak  of  her  in  joke  as  mademoiselle,  but, 
in  fact,  people  stand  somewhat  in  awe  of  Mme.  de  Bonfons. 
It  was  as  if  she,  whose  heart  went  out  so  readily  to  others, 
was  always  to  be  the  victim  of  their  interested  calculations, 
and  to  be  cut  off  from  them  by  a  barrier  of  distrust ;  as  if  for 
all  warmth  and  brightness  in  her  life  she  was  to  find  only  the 
pale  glitter  of  metal. 

"No  one  loves  me  but  you,"  she  would  sometimes  say  to 
Nanon. 

Yet  her  hands  are  always  ready  to  bind  the  wounds  that 
other  eyes  do  not  see,  in  any  house ;  and  her  way  to  heaven 
is  one  long  succession  of  kindness  and  good  deeds.  The  real 
greatness  of  her  soul  has  risen  above  the  cramping  influences 
of  her  early  life.  And  this  is  the  life-history  of  a  woman  who 
dwells  in  the  world,  yet  is  not  of  it ;  a  woman  so  grandly 
fitted  to  be  a  wife  and  mother,  but  who  has  neither  husband 
nor  children  nor  kindred. 

Of  late  the  good  folk  of  Saumur  have  begun  to  talk  of  a 
second  marriage  for  her.  Rumor  is  busy  with  her  name  and 
that  of  the  Marquis  de  Froidfond  ;  indeed,  his  family  have 
begun  to  surround  the  rich  widow,  just  as  the  Cruchots  once 
flocked  about  Eugenie  Grandet.  Nanon  and  Cornoiller,  so  it 
is  said,  are  in  the  interest  of  the  Marquis,  but  nothing  could 
be  more  false  ;  for  big  Nanon  and  Cornoiller  have  neither  of 
them  wit  enough  to  understand  the  corruptions  of  the  world. 


THE  MARANAS. 

{JLes  Marana.') 
To  Madame  la  Comtesse  Merlin. 

In  spite  of  the  discipline  enforced  by  Marshal  Suchet  in  the 
division  he  commanded  in  the  Peninsular  War,  all  his  efforts 
could  not  restrain  an  outbreak  of  license  and  tumult  at  the 
taking  of  Taragona.  Indeed,  according  to  trustworthy  mili- 
tary authorities,  the  intoxication  of  victory  resulted  in  some- 
thing very  like  a  sack  of  the  town.  Pillage  was  promptly  put 
down  by  the  marshal  ;  and  as  soon  as  order  was  restored,  a 
commandant  appointed,  the  military  administrators  appeared 
upon  the  scene,  and  the  town  began  to  wear  a  nondescript 
aspect — the  organization  was  French,  but  the  Spanish  popula- 
tion was  left  free  to  follow  in  petto  its  own  national  customs. 
It  would  be  a  task  of  no  little  difficulty  to  determine  the 
exact  duration  of  the  pillage,  but  its  cause  (like  that  of  most 
sublunary  events)  is  sufficiently  easy  to  discover. 

In  the  marshal's  division  of  the  army  there  was  a  regiment 
composed  almost  entirely  of  Italians,  commanded  by  a  certain 
Colonel  Eugdne,  a  man  of  extraordinary  valor,  a  second 
Murat,  who,  having  come  to  the  trade  of  war  too  late,  had 
gained  no  Grand  Duchy  of  Berg,  no  Kingdom  of  Naples,  nor 
a  ball  through  the  heart  at  Pizzo.  But  if  he  had  received  no 
crown,  his  chances  of  receiving  bullets  were  admirably  good  ; 
and  it  would  have  been  in  no  wise  astonishing  if  he  had  had 
more  than  one  of  them.  This  regiment  was  made  up  from 
the  wrecks  of  the  Italian  Legion,  which  is  in  Italy  very  much 
what  the  colonial  battalions  are  in  France.  Stationed  on  the 
isle  of  Elba,  it  had  provided  an  honorable  way  out  of  the 
15  (225) 


226  THE  MARANAS. 

difficulty  experienced  by  families  with  regard  to  the  future  of 
unmanageable  sons,  as  well  as  a  career  for  those  great  men 
spoiled  in  the  making,  whom  society  is  too  ready  to  brand  as 
mauvais  sujets.  All  of  them  were  men  misunderstood,  for  the 
most  part — men  who  may  become  heroes  if  a  woman's  smile 
raises  them  out  of  the  beaten  track  of  glory ;  or  terrible  after 
an  orgy,  when  some  ugly  suggestion,  dropped  by  a  boon  com- 
panion, has  gained  possession  of  their  minds. 

Napoleon  had  enrolled  these  men  of  energy  in  the  Sixth 
Regiment  of  the  line,  hoping  to  metamorphose  them  into 
generals,  with  due  allowance  for  the  gaps  to  be  made  in  their 
ranks  by  bullets;  but  the  Emperor's  estimate  of  the  ravages 
of  death  proved  more  correct  than  the  rest  of  his  calculations. 
It  was  often  decimated,  but  its  character  remained  the  same ; 
and  the  Sixth  acquired  a  name  for  splendid  bravery  in  the 
field,  and  the  very  worst  reputation  in  private  life. 

These  Italians  had  lost  their  captain  during  the  siege  of 
Taragona.  He  was  the  famous  Bianchi  who  had  laid  a  wager 
during  the  campaign  that  he  would  eat  a  Spanish  sentinel's 
heart — and  won  his  bet.  The  story  of  this  pleasantry  of  the 
camp  is  told  elsewhere  in  the  "  Scenes  de  la  Vie  Parisienne ;" 
therein  will  be  found  certain  details  which  corroborate  what 
has  been  said  here  concerning  the  legion.  Bianchi,  the  prince 
of  those  fiends  incarnate  who  had  earned  the  double  reputa- 
tion of  the  regiment,  possessed  the  chivalrous  sense  of  honor 
which  in  the  army  covers  a  multitude  of  the  wildest  excesses. 
In  a  word,  had  he  lived  a  few  centuries  earlier,  he  would  have 
made  a  gallant  buccaneer.  Only  a  few  days  before  he  fell, 
he  had  distinguished  himself  by  such  conspicuous  courage  in 
action,  that  the  marshal  sought  to  recognize  it.  Bianchi  had 
refused  promotion,  pension,  or  a  fresh  decoration,  and  asked 
as  a  favor  to  be  allowed  to  mount  the  first  scaling-ladder  at 
the  assault  of  Taragona  as  his  sole  reward.  The  marshal 
granted  the  request,  and  forgot  his  promise;  but  Bianchi 
himself  put  him  in  mind  of  it  and  of  Bianchi,  for  the  berserker 


THE  MARANAS.  237 

captain  was  the  first  to  plant  the  flag  of  France  upon  the  wall ; 
and  there  he  fell,  killed  by  a  monk. 

This  historical  digression  is  necessary  to  explain  how  it 
came  to  pass  that  the  Sixth  Regiment  of  the  line  was  the  first 
to  enter  Taragona,  and  how  the  tumult,  sufficiently  natural 
after  a  town  has  been  carried  by  storm,  degenerated  so 
quickly  into  an  attempt  to  sack  it.  Moreover,  among  these 
men  of  iron,  there  were  two  officers,  otherwise  but  little 
remarkable,  who  were  destined  by  force  of  circumstances  to 
play  an  important  part  in  this  story. 

The  first  of  these,  a  captain  on  the  clothing  establishment — 
half-civilian,  half-officer — was  generally  said,  in  soldierly  lan- 
guage, to  "  take  good  care  of  number  one." 

Outside  of  his  regiment  he  was  wont  to  swagger  and  brag 
of  his  connection  with  it ;  he  would  curl  his  mustache  and 
look  a  terrible  fellow,  but  his  mess  had  no  great  opinion  of 
him.  His  money  was  the  secret  of  his  valorous  discretion. 
For  a  double  reason,  moreover,  he  had  been  nicknamed 
"Captain  of  the  Ravens;"  because,  in  the  first  place,  he 
scented  the  powder  a  league  away ;  and,  in  the  second,  scurried 
out  of  range  like  a  bird  on  the  wing;  the  nickname  was  like- 
wise a  harmless  soldier's  joke,  a  personality  of  which  another 
might  have  been  proud.  Captain  Montefiore,  of  the  illustrious 
family  of  the  Montefiori  of  Milan  (though  by  the  law  of  the 
kingdom  of  Italy  he  might  not  bear  his  title),  was  one  of  the 
prettiest  fellows  in  the  army.  Possibly  his  beauty  may  secretly 
have  been  additional  cause  of  his  prudence  on  the  field  of 
battle.  A  wound  in  the  face  by  spoiling  his  profile,  scarring 
his  forehead,  or  seaming  his  cheeks,  would  have  spoiled  one 
of  the  finest  heads  in  Italy,  and  destroyed  the  delicate  propor- 
tions of  a  countenance  such  as  no  woman  ever  pictured  in 
dreams.  In  Girodet's  picture  of  the  "Revolt  of  Cairo" 
there  is  a  young  dying  Turk  who  has  the  same  type  of  face, 
the  same  melancholy  expression,  of  which  women  are  nearly 
always  the  dupes.     The  Marchese  di  Montefiore  had  property 


228  THE  MARANAS. 

of  his  own,  but  it  was  entailed,  and  he  had  anticipated  his 
income  for  several  years  in  order  to  pay  for  escapades  peculiarly 
Italian  and  inconceivable  in  Paris.  He  had  ruined  himself  by 
running  a  theatre  in  Milan  for  the  special  purpose  of  foisting 
upon  the  public  a  cantatrice  who  could  not  sing,  but  who 
loved  him  (so  he  said)  to  distraction. 

So  Montefiore  the  captain  had  good  prospects,  and  was  in 
no  hurry  to  risk  them  for  a  paltry  scrap  of  red  ribbon.  If  he 
was  no  hero,  he  was  at  any  rate  a  philosopher ;  besides,  pre- 
cedents (if  it  is  allowable  to  make  use  of  parliamentary  ex- 
pressions in  this  connection),  precedents  are  forthcoming. 
Did  not  Philip  II.  swear  during  the  battle  of  Saint-Quentia 
that  he  would  never  go  under  fire  again,  nor  near  it,  save  the 
faggots  of  the  Inquisition  ?  Did  not  the  Duke  of  Alva  ap- 
prove the  notion  that  the  involuntary  exchange  of  a  crown 
for  a  cannon-ball  was  the  worst  kind  of  trade  in  the  world  ? 
Montefiore,  therefore,  as  a  marquis,  was  of  Philip  II. 's  way  of 
thinking  ;  he  was  a  Philippist  in  his  quality  of  gay  young  bach- 
elor, and  in  other  respects  quite  as  astute  a  politician  as  Philip 
II.  himself.  He  comforted  himself  for  his  nickname,  and 
for  the  slight  esteem  in  which  he  was  held  by  his  regiment, 
with  the  thought  that  his  comrades  were  sorry  scamps ;  and 
even  if  they  should  survive  this  war  of  extermination,  their 
opinion  of  him  was  not  likely  to  gain  much  credence  hereafter. 
Was  not  his  face  as  good  as  a  certificate  of  merit  ?  He  saw 
himself  a  colonel  through  some  accident  of  feminine  favor ; 
or,  by  a  skillfully  effected  transition,  the  captain  on  the  cloth- 
ing establishment  would  become  an  orderly,  and  the  orderly 
would  in  turn  become  the  aide-de-camp  of  some  good-natured 
marshal.  The  bravery  of  the  uniform  and  the  bravery  of  the 
man  were  all  as  one  to  the  captain  on  the  clothing  establish- 
ment. So  some  broad  sheet  would  one  day  or  other  call  him 
**  the  brave  Colonel  Montefiore,"  and  so  forth.  Then  he 
would  have  a  hundred  thousand  scudi  a  year,  he  would  m.arry 
the  daughter  of  a  noble  house,  and  no  one  would  dare  to 


THE   MAR  ANAS.  229 

breathe  a  word  against  his  courage  nor  to  seek  to  verify  his 
wounds.  Finally,  it  should  be  stated  that  Captain  Monte- 
fiore  had  a  friend  in  the  person  of  the  quartermaster,  a  Pro- 
vengal,  born  in  the  Nice  district,  Diard  by  name. 

A  friend,  be  it  in  the  convict's  prison  or  in  an  artist's 
garret,  is  a  compensation  for  many  troubles ;  and  Montefiore 
and  Diard,  being  a  pair  of  philosphers,  found  compensations 
for  their  hard  life  in  companionship  in  vice,  much  as  two 
artists  will  lull  the  consciousness  of  their  hardships  to  sleep 
by  hopes  of  future  fame.  Both  looked  at  war  as  a  means  to 
an  end,  and  not  as  an  end  in  itself,  and  frankly  called  those 
who  fell,  fools  for  their  pains.  Chance  had  made  soldiers  of 
both,  when  they  should  have  been  by  rights  deliberating  in  a 
congress  round  a  table  covered  with  a  green  cloth.  Nature 
had  cast  Montefiore  in  the  mould  of  Rizzio,  and  Diard  in  the 
crucible  whence  she  turns  out  diplomatists.  Both  possessed 
the  excitable,  nervous,  half-feminine  temperament,  which  is 
always  energetic,  be  it  in  good  or  evil ;  always  at  the  mercy 
of  the  caprices  of  the  moment,  and  swayed  by  an  impulse 
equally  unaccountable  to  commit  a  crime  or  to  do  a  generous 
deed,  to  act  as  a  hero  or  as  a  craven  coward.  The  fate  of 
such  natures  as  these  depends  at  every  moment  of  their  lives 
upon  the  intensity  of  the  impressions  produced  upon  the  ner- 
vous system  by  vehement  and  short-lived  passions. 

Diard  was  a  very  fair  accountant,  but  not  one  of  the  men 
would  have  trusted  him  with  his  purse,  or  made  him  his  exec- 
utor, possibly  by  reason  of  the  suspicion  that  the  soldier  feels 
of  officialdom.  The  quartermaster's  character  was  not  want- 
ing in  dash,  nor  in  a  certain  boyish  enthusiasm,  which  is  apt 
to  wear  off  as  a  man  grows  older  and  reasons  and  makes  fore- 
casts. And  for  the  rest,  his  humor  was  variable  as  the  beauty 
of  a  blonde  can  sometimes  be.  He  was  a  great  talker  on 
every  subject.  He  called  himself  an  artist ;  and,  in  imitation 
of  two  celebrated  generals,  collected  works  of  art,  simply,  he 
asserted,  to  secure  them  for  posterity.     His  comrades  would 


230  THE  MARANAS. 

have  been  hard  put  to  it  to  say  what  they  really  thought  of 
him.  Many  of  them,  who  were  wont  to  borrow  of  him  at 
need,  fancied  that  he  was  rich ;  but  he  was  a  gambler,  and  a 
gambler's  property  cannot  be  called  his  own.  He  played 
heavily,  so  did  Montefiore,  and  all  the  officers  played  with 
them ;  for  to  man's  shame,  be  it  said,  plenty  of  men  will 
meet  on  terms  of  equality  round  a  gaming  table  with  others 
whom  they  do  not  respect  and  will  not  recognize  if  they  meet 
them  elsewhere.  It  was  Montefiore  who  had  made  that  bet 
with  Bianchi  about  the  Spaniard's  heart. 

Montefiore  and  Diard  were  among  the  last  to  advance  to  the 
assault  of  the  place,  but  they  were  the  first  to  go  forward  into 
the  town  itself  when  it  was  taken.  Such  things  happen  in  a 
mHee,  and  the  two  friends  were  old  hands.  Mutually  sup- 
ported, therefore,  they  plunged  boldly  into  a  labyrinth  of 
narrow  dark  little  streets,  each  bent  upon  his  own  private 
affairs ;  the  one  in  search  of  Madonnas  on  canvas,  and  the 
other  of  living  originals. 

In  some  quarter  of  Taragona,  Diard  espied  a  piece  of  eccle- 
siastical architecture,  saw  that  it  was  the  porch  of  a  convent, 
and  that  the  doors  had  been  forced,  and  rushed  in  to  restrain 
the  fury  of  the  soldiery.  He  was  not  a  moment  too  soon. 
Two  Parisians  were  about  to  riddle  one  of  Albani's  Virgins 
with  shot,  and  of  these  light  infantrymen  he  bought  the 
picture,  undismayed  by  the  mustaches  with  which  the  zealous 
iconoclasts  had  adorned  it. 

Montefiore,  left  outside,  contemplated  the  front  of  a  cloth 
merchant's  house  opposite  the  convent.  He  was  looking  it 
up  and  down,  when  a  corner  of  a  blind  was  raised,  a  girl's 
head  peered  forth,  a  glance  like  a  lightning  flash  answered  his, 
and — a  shot  was  fired  at  him  from  the  building.  Taragona 
carried  by  assault,  Taragona  roused  to  fury,  firing  from  every 
window,  Taragona  outraged,  disheveled,  and  half-naked,  with 
French  soldiers  pouring  through  her  blazing  streets,  slaying 
there  and  being  slain,  was  surely  worth  a  glance  from  fearless 


THE  MARANAS.  231 

Spanish  eyes.  What  was  it  but  a  bull-fight  on  a  grander 
scale  ?  Montefiore  forgot  the  pillaging  soldiers,  and  for  a 
moment  heard  neither  the  shrieks,  nor  the  rattle  of  musketry, 
nor  the  dull  thunder  of  the  cannon.  He,  the  Italian  liber- 
tine, tired  of  Italian  beauties,  weary  of  all  women,  dreaming 
of  an  impossible  woman  because  the  possible  had  ceased  to 
have  any  attraction  for  him,  had  never  beheld  so  exquisitely 
lovely  a  profile  as  that  of  this  Spanish  girl.  The  jaded 
voluptuary,  who  had  squandered  his  fortune  on  follies  innumer- 
able and  on  the  gratification  of  a  young  man's  endless  desires ; 
the  most  abominable  monstrosity  that  our  society  can  produce, 
could  still  tremble.  The  bright  idea  of  setting  fire  to  the 
house  instantly  flashed  through  his  mind,  suggested,  doubtless, 
by  the  shot  from  the  patriotic  cloth  merchant's  window;  but 
he  was  alone,  and  the  means  of  doing  it  were  to  seek,  fighting 
was  going  forward  in  the  market-place,  where  a  few  desperate 
men  still  defended  themselves. 

He  thought  better  of  it.  Diard  came  out  of  the  convent, 
Montefiore  kept  his  discovery  to  himself,  and  the  pair  made 
several  excursions  through  the  town  together ;  but  on  the 
morrow  the  Italian  was  quartered  in  the  cloth  merchant's 
house,  a  very  appropriate  arrangement  for  a  captain  on  the 
clothing  establishment.  It  promised  him  the  fulfillment  of  his 
desire  to  again  see  the  Spanish  girl. 

The  first  floor  of  the  worthy  Spaniard's  abode  consisted  of 
a  vast  dimly-lighted  shop ;  protected  in  front,  as  the  old 
houses  in  the  Rue  des  Lombards  in  Paris  used  to  be,  by  heavy 
iron  bars.  Behind  the  shop  lay  the  parlor,  lighted  by  windows 
that  looked  out  into  an  inner  yard.  It  was  a  large  room, 
redolent  of  the  spirit  of  the  middle  ages,  with  its  old  dark 
pictures,  old  tapestry,  and  antique  brazero.  A  broad-plumed 
hat  hung  from  a  nail  upon  the  wall  above  a  matchlock  used  in 
guerilla  warfare,  and  a  heavy  brigand's  cloak.  The  kitchen 
lay  immediately  beyond  this  parlor,  or  living-room,  where 
meals  were  served  and  cigars  smoked ;  and  Spaniards,  talking 


232  THE  MARANAS. 

round  the  smouldering  brasier,  would  nurse  hot  wrath  and 
hatred  of  the  French  in  their  hearts. 

Silver  jugs  and  valuable  plate  stood  on  the  antique  buffet, 
but  the  room  was  fitfully  and  scantily  illuminated,  so  that  the 
daylight  scarcely  did  more  than  bring  out  faint  sparkles  from 
the  brightest  objects  in  the  room  ;  all  the  rest  of  it,  and  even 
the  faces  of  its  occupants,  were  as  dark  as  a  Dutch  interior. 
Between  the  shop  itself  and  this  apartment,  with  its  rich  sub- 
dued tones  and  old-world  aspect,  a  sufficiently  ill-lit  staircase 
led  to  a  warehouse,  where  it  was  possible  to  examine  the  stuffs 
by  the  light  from  some  ingeniously  contrived  windows.  The 
merchant  and  his  wife  occupied  the  floor  above  this  ware- 
house, and  the  apprentice  and  the  maidservant  were  lodged 
still  higher  in  the  attics  immediately  beneath  the  roof.  This 
highest  story  overhung  the  street,  and  was  supported  by 
brackets,  which  gave  a  quaint  look  to  the  house  front.  On 
the  coming  of  the  officer,  the  merchant  and  his  wife  resigned 
their  rooms  to  him  and  went  up  to  these  attics,  doubtless  to 
avoid  friction. 

Montefiore  gave  himself  out  to  be  a  Spanish  subject  by 
birth,  a  victim  to  the  tyranny  of  Napoleon,  whom  he  was 
forced  to  serve  against  his  will.  These  half-lies  produced  the 
intended  effect.  He  was  asked  to  join  the  family  at  meals,  as 
befitted  his  birth  and  rank  and  the  name  he  bore.  He  had 
his  private  reasons  for  wishing  to  conciliate  the  merchant's 
family.  He  felt  the  presence  of  his  madonna,  much  as  the 
ogre  in  the  fairytale  smelt  the  tender  flesh  of  little  Thumbkin 
and  his  brothers;  but  though  he  succeeded  in  winning  his 
host's  confidence,  the  latter  kept  the  secret  of  the  madonna 
so  well  that  the  captain  not  only  saw  no  sign  of  the  girl's 
existence  during  the  first  day  spent  beneath  the  honest  Span- 
iard's roof,  but  heard  no  sound  that  could  betray  her  presence 
in  any  part  of  the  dwelling.  The  old  house  was,  however, 
almost  entirely  built  of  wood ;  every  noise  above  or  below 
could  be  heard  through  the  walls  and  ceilings,  and  Montefiore 


THE  MARANAS.  233 

hoped  during  the  silence  of  the  early  hours  of  night  to 
guess  the  young  girl's  whereabouts.  She  was  the  only 
daughter  of  his  host  and  hostess,  he  thought ;  probably  they 
had  shut  her  up  in  the  attics,  whither  they  themselves  had 
retired  during  the  military  occupation  of  the  town.  No  indi- 
cations, however,  betrayed  the  hiding-place  of  the  treasure. 
The  officer  might  stand  with  his  face  glued  to  the  small  leaded 
diamond-shaped  panes  of  the  window,  looking  out  into  the 
darkness  of  the  yard  below  and  the  grim  walls  that  rose  up 
around  it,  but  no  light  gleaned  from  any  window  save  from 
those  of  the  room  overhead,  where  he  could  hear  the  old 
merchant  and  his  wife  talking,  coughing,  coming,  and  going. 
There  was  not  so  much  even  as  a  shadow  of  the  girl  to  be 
seen. 

Montefiore  was  too  cunning  to  risk  the  future  of  his  passion 
by  prowling  about  the  house  of  a  night,  by  knocking  softly  at 
all  the  doors,  or  by  other  hazardous  expedients.  His  host 
was  a  hot  patriot,  a  Spanish  father,  and  an  owner  of  bales  of 
cloth;  bound,  therefore,  in  each  character  to  be  suspicious. 
Discovery  would  be  utter  ruin,  so  Montefiore  resolved  to  bide 
his  time  patiently,  hoping  everything  from  the  carelessness  of 
human  nature  ;  for  if  rogues,  with  the  best  of  reasons  for 
being  cautious,  will  forget  themselves  in  the  long  run,  so  still 
more  will  honest  men. 

Next  day  he  discovered  a  kind  of  hammock  slung  in  the 
kitchen — evidently  the  servant  slept  there.  The  apprentice, 
it  seemed,  spent  the  night  on  the  counter  in  the  shop. 

At  supper-time,  on  the  second  day,  Montefiore  cursed  Na- 
poleon till  he  saw  his  host's  sombre  face  relax  somewhat. 
The  man  was  a  typical,  swarthy  Spaniard,  with  a  head  such  as 
used  to  be  carved  on  the  head  of  a  rebeck.  A  smile  of 
gleeful  hatred  lurked  among  the  wrinkles  about  his  wife's 
mouth.  The  lamplight  and  fitful  gleams  from  the  brasier 
filled  the  stately  room  with  capricious  answering  reflections. 
The  hostess  was  just  offering  a  cigarette  to  their  semi-com- 


234  THE  MARANAS. 

patriot,  when  Montefiore  heard  the  rustle  of  a  dress,  and  a 
chair  was  overturned  behind  the  tapestry  hangings. 

"There  !  "  cried  the  merchant's  wife,  turning  pale,  "may 
all  the  saints  send  that  no  misfortune  has  befallen  us  !  " 

"So  you  have  some  one  in  there,  have  you?"  asked  the 
Italian,  who  betrayed  no  sign  of  emotion. 

The  merchant  let  fall  some  injurious  remarks  as  to  girls. 
His  wife,  in  alarm,  opened  a  secret  door,  and  brought  in  the 
Italian's  madonna,  half-dead  with  fear.  The  delighted  lover 
scarcely  seemed  to  notice  the  girl ;  but,  lest  he  might  overdo 
the  affectation  of  indifference,  he  glanced  at  her,  and  turning 
to  his  host,  asked  in  his  mother  tongue  : 

"Is  she  your  daughter,  sefior?" 

Perez  de  Lagounia  (for  that  was  the  merchant's  name)  had 
had  extensive  business  connections  in  Genoa,  Florence,  and 
Leghorn  j  he  knew  Italian,  and  replied  in  that  language. 

"  No.  If  she  had  been  my  own  daughter,  I  should  have 
taken  fewer  precautions,  but  the  child  was  put  into  our  charge, 
and  I  would  die  sooner  than  allow  the  slightest  harm  to  befall 
her.     But  what  sense  can  you  expect  of  a  girl  of  eighteen?" 

"She  is  very  beautiful,"  Montefiore  said  carelessly.  He 
did  not  look  at  her  again. 

"The  mother  is  sufficiently  famous  for  her  beauty,"  an- 
swered the  merchant.  And  they  continued  to  smoke  and  to 
watch  each  other. 

Montefiore  had  imposed  upon  himself  the  hard  task  of 
avoiding  the  least  look  that  might  compromise  his  attitude 
of  indifference  ;  but  as  Perez  turned  his  head  aside  to  spit, 
the  Italian  stole  a  glance  at  the  girl,  and  again  those  spark- 
ling eyes  met  his.  In  that  one  glance,  with  the  experienced 
vision  that  gives  to  a  voluptuary  or  a  sculptor  the  power  of 
discerning  the  outlines  of  the  form  beneath  the  draperies,  he 
beheld  a  masterpiece  created  to  know  all  the  happiness  of 
love.  He  saw  a  delicately  fair  face,  which  the  sun  of  Spain 
had  slightly  tinged  with  a  warm  brown,  that  added  to  a 


THE  MARANAS.  235 

seraphically  calm  expression  a  flush  of  pride,  a  suffused  glow 
beneath  the  translucent  fairness,  due,  perhaps,  to  the  pure 
Moorish  blood  that  brought  animation  and  color  into  it. 
Her  hair,  knotted  on  the  crown  of  her  head,  fell  in  thick 
curls  about  transparent  ears  like  a  child's,  surrounding  them 
with  dark  shadows  that  made  a  framework  for  the  white 
throat  with  its  faint  blue  veins,  in  strong  contrast  with  the 
fiery  eyes  and  the  red  finely-curved  mouth.  The  basquina  of 
her  country  displayed  the  curving  outlines  of  a  figure  as  pliant 
as  a  branch  of  willow.  This  was  no  "Madonna"  of  Italian 
painters,  but  "The  Madonna"  of  Spanish  art,  the  Virgin  of 
Murillo,  the  only  artist  daring  enough  to  depict  the  rapture 
of  the  Conception,  a  delirious  flight  of  the  fervid  imagination 
of  the  boldest  and  most  sensuous  of  painters.  Three  qualities 
were  blended  in  this  young  girl ;  any  one  of  them  would  have 
sufficed  to  exalt  a  woman  into  a  divinity — the  purity  of  the 
pearl  in  the  depths  of  the  sea,  the  sublime  exaltation  of  a 
Saint  Theresa,  and  a  voluptuous  charm  of  which  she  was  her- 
self unconscious.  Her  presence  had  the  power  of  a  talisman. 
Everything  in  the  ancient  room  seemed  to  have  grown  young 
to  Montefiore's  eyes  since  she  entered  it.  But  if  the  appari- 
tion was  exquisite,  the  stay  was  brief;  she  was  taken  back  to 
her  mysterious  abiding-place,  and  thither,  shortly  afterwards, 
the  servant  took  a  light  and  her  supper,  without  any  attempt 
at  concealment. 

"You  do  very  wisely  to  keep  her  out  of  sight,"  said 
Montefiore  in  Italian.  "I  will  keep  your  secret.  The 
deuce !  some  of  our  generals  would  be  quite  capable  of  carry- 
ing her  off  by  force." 

Montefiore,  in  his  intoxication,  went  so  far  as  to  think  of 
marrying  the  fair  unknown.  With  this  idea  in  his  mind,  he 
put  some  questions  to  his  host.  Perez  willingly  told  him  the 
strange  chance  that  had  given  him  his  ward ;  indeed,  the 
prudent  Spaniard,  knowing  ^lontefiore's  rank  and  name,  of 
which  he  had  heard  in  Italy,  was  anxious  to  confide  the  story 


236  THE   MARANAS. 

to  his  guest,  to  show  how  strong  were  the  barriers  raised 
between  the  young  girl  and  seduction.  Although  in  the  good 
man's  talk  there  was  a  certain  homely  eloquence  and  force  in 
keeping  with  his  simple  manner  of  life,  and  with  that  carbine 
shot  at  Montefiore  from  the  window,  his  story  will  be  better 
given  in  an  abbreviated  form. 

When  the  French  Republic  revolutionized  the  manners  of 
the  inhabitants  of  the  countries  which  served  as  the  theatre  of 
its  wars,  a  fille-de-joie,  driven  from  Venice  after  the  fall  of 
Venice,  came  to  Taragona.  Her  life  had  been  a  tissue  of 
romantic  adventure  and  strange  vicissitudes.  On  no  woman 
belonging  to  her  class  had  gold  been  showered  so  often  ;  so 
often  the  caprice  of  some  great  lord,  struck  with  her  extraor- 
dinary beauty,  had  heaped  jewels  upon  her,  and  all  the  luxu- 
ries of  wealth,  for  a  time.  For  her  this  meant  flowers  and 
carriages,  pages  and  tire-women,  palaces  and  pictures,  insolent 
pride,  journeys  like  a  progress  of  Catherine  II.,  the  life  of  an 
absolute  queen,  in  fact,  whose  caprices  were  law,  and  whose 
whims  were  more  than  obeyed  ;  and  then — suddenly  the  gold 
would  utterly  vanish — how,  neither  she  nor  any  one  else,  man 
of  science,  physicist,  or  chemist  could  tell,  and  she  was  re- 
turned again  to  the  streets  and  to  poverty,  with  nothing  in  the 
world  save  her  all-powerful  beauty.  Yet  through  it  all  she 
lived  without  taking  any  thought  for  the  past,  the  present,  or 
the  future.  Thrown  upon  the  world,  and  maintained  in  her 
extremity  by  some  poor  officer,  a  gambler,  adored  for  his 
mustache,  she  would  attach  herself  to  him  like  a  dog  to  his 
master,  and  console  him  for  the  hardships  of  a  soldier's  life, 
in  all  of  which  she  shared,  sleeping  as  lightly  under  the  roof 
of  a  garret  as  beneath  the  richest  of  silk  canopies.  Whether 
she  was  in  Spain  or  Italy,  she  punctually  adhered  to  religious 
observances.  More  than  once  she  had  bidden  love  **  return 
to-morrow,  to-day  I  am  God's." 

But  this  clay  in  which  gold  and  spices  were  mingled,  this 
utter  recklessness,  these  storms  of  passion,  the  religious  faith 


THE  MARAXAS.  237 

lying  in  the  heart  like  a  diamond  in  the  mud,  the  life  begun 
and  ended  in  the  hospital,  the  continual  game  of  hazard 
played  with  the  soul  and  body  as  its  stake ;  this  Alchemy  of 
Life,  in  short,  with  vice  fanning  the  flame  beneath  the  cruci- 
ble in  which  great  careers  and  fair  inheritances  and  fortune 
and  the  honor  of  illustrious  names  were  melted  away ;  all 
these  were  the  products  of  a  peculiar  genius,  faithfully  trans- 
mitted from  mother  to  daughter  from  the  times  of  the  middle 
ages.  The  woman  was  called  La  Marana.  In  her  family, 
whose  descent  since  the  thirteenth  century  was  reckoned 
exclusively  on  the  spindle  side — the  idea,  person,  authority, 
nay,  the  very  name  of  a  father,  had  been  absolutely  unknown. 
The  name  of  Marana  was  for  her  what  the  dignity  of  Stuart 
was  to  the  illustrious  race  of  kings  of  Scotland,  a  title  of 
honor  substituted  for  the  patronymic,  when  the  office  became 
hereditary  in  their  family. 

In  former  times,  when  France,  Spain,  and  Italy  possessed 
common  interests,  which  at  times  bound  them  closely  together, 
and  at  least  as  frequently  embroiled  all  three  in  wars,  the 
word  Marana,  in  its  widest  acceptation,  meant  a  courtesan. 
In  those  ages  these  women  had  a  definite  status  of  which  no 
memory  now  exists.  In  France,  Ninon  de  Lenclos  and 
Marion  Delorme  alone  played  such  a  part  as  the  Imperias,  the 
Catalinas,  and  Maranas  who  in  the  preceding  centuries  exer- 
cised the  powers  of  the  cassock,  the  robe,  and  the  sword. 
There  is  a  church  somewhere  in  Rome  built  by  an  Imperia  in 
a  fit  of  penitence,  as  Rhodope  of  old  once  built  a  pyramid  in 
Egypt.  The  epithet  by  which  this  family  of  outcasts  once 
was  branded  became  at  last  their  name  in  earnest,  and  even 
something  like  a  patent  of  nobility  for  vice,  by  establishing 
its  antiquity  beyond  cavil. 

But  for  the  La  Marana  of  the  nineteenth  century  there 
came  a  day,  whether  it  was  a  day  of  splendor  or  of  misery, 
no  man  knows,  for  the  problem  is  a  secret  between  her  soul 
and  God  ;  but  it  was  surely  in  an  hour  of  melancholy,  when 


238  THE  MARANAS. 

religion  made  its  voice  heard,  that  with  her  head  in  the  skies 
she  became  conscious  of  the  slough  in  which  her  feet  were 
set.  Then  she  cursed  the  blood  in  her  veins ;  she  cursed  her- 
self; she  trembled  to  think  that  she  should  bear  a  daughter; 
and  vowed,  as  these  women  vow,  with  the  honor  and  resolution 
of  the  convict,  that  is  to  say,  with  the  strongest  resolution, 
the  most  scrupulous  honor  to  be  found  under  the  sun  ;  making 
her  vow,  therefore,  before  an  altar,  and  consecrating  it 
thereby,  that  her  daughter  should  lead  a  virtuous  and  holy 
life,  that  of  this  long  race  of  lost  and  sinful  women  there 
should  come  at  last  one  angel  who  should  appear  for  them  in 
heaven.  That  vow  made,  the  blood  of  the  Marana  regained 
its  sway,  and  again  the  courtesan  plunged  into  her  life  of 
adventure,  with  one  more  thought  in  her  heart.  At  length  she 
loved,  with  the  violent  love  of  the  prostitute,  as  Henrietta 
Wilson  loved  Lord  Ponsonby,  as  Mademoiselle  Dupuis  loved 
Bolingbroke,  as  the  Marchesa  di  Pescara  loved  her  husband  ; 
nay,  she  did  not  love,  she  adored  a  fair-haired  half-feminine 
creature,  investing  him  with  all  the  virtues  that  she  had  not, 
and  taking  all  his  vices  upon  herself  Of  this  mad  union  with 
a  weakling,  a  union  blessed  neither  of  God  nor  man,  only  to 
be  excused  by  the  happiness  it  brings,  but  never  absolved 
by  happiness ;  a  union  for  which  the  most  brazen  front  must 
one  day  blush,  a  daughter  was  born,  a  daughter  to  be  saved,  a 
daughter  for  whom  La  Marana  desired  a  stainless  life,  and, 
above  all  things,  the  instincts  of  womanliness  which  she  herself 
had  not.  Thenceforward,  in  poverty  or  prosperity,  La  Marana 
bore  within  her  heart  a  pure  affection,  the  fairest  of  all  human 
sentiments,  because  it  is  the  least  selfish.  Love  has  its  own 
tinge  of  egoism,  but  there  is  no  trace  of  it  in  a  mother's 
affection. 

And  La  Marana's  motherhoood  meant  more  to  her  than  to 
other  women.  It  was  perhaps  her  hope  of  salvation,  a  plank 
to  cling  to  in  the  shipwreck  of  her  eternity.  Was  she  not 
accomplishing  part  of  her  sacred  task  on  earth  by  sending 


THE  MARANAS.  239 

one  more  angel  to  heaven  ?  Was  not  this  a  better  thing 
than  a  tardy  repentance  ?  Was  there  any  other  way  now  left 
to  her  of  sending  up  prayers  from  a  pure  heart  to  God  ? 

When  her  daughter  was  given  to  her,  her  Maria- Juana- 
Pepita  (the  little  one  should  have  had  the  whole  calendar  for 
patron  saints  if  the  mother  could  have  had  her  will),  then  La 
Marana  set  before  herself  so  high  an  ideal  of  the  dignity  of 
motherhood  that  she  sought  a  truce  from  her  life  of  sin. 
She  would  live  virtuously  and  alone.  There  should  be  no 
more  midnight  revels  nor  wanton  days.  All  her  fortunes, 
all  her  happiness  lay  in  the  child's  fragile  cradle.  The  sound 
of  the  little  voice  made  an  oasis  for  her  amid  the  burning 
sands  of  her  life.  How  should  this  love  be  compared  with 
any  other?  Were  not  all  human  affections  blended  in  it 
with  every  hope  of  heaven  ? 

La  Marana  determined  that  no  stain  should  rest  upon  her 
daughter's  life,  save  that  of  the  original  sin  of  her  birth,  which 
she  strove  to  cleanse  by  a  baptism  in  all  social  virtues ;  so  she 
asked  of  the  child's  young  father  a  sufficient  fortune,  and  the 
name  he  bore.  The  child  was  no  longer  Juana  Marana,  but 
Juana  dei  Mancini. 

At  last,  after  seven  years  of  joy  and  kisses,  of  rapture  and 
bliss,  the  poor  Marana  must  part  with  her  darling,  lest  she  also 
should  be  branded  with  her  hereditary  shame.  The  mother 
had  force  of  soul  sufficient  to  give  up  her  child  for  her  child's 
sake ;  and  sought  out,  not  without  dreadful  pangs,  another 
mother  for  her,  a  family  whose  manners  she  might  learn, 
where  good  examples  would  be  set  before  her.  A  mother's 
abdication  is  an  act  either  atrocious  or  sublime ;  in  this  case, 
was  it  not  sublime  ? 

At  Taragona,  therefore,  a  lucky  accident  brought  the 
Lagounias  in  her  way,  and  in  a  manner  that  brought  out  all 
the  honorable  integrity  of  the  Spaniard  and  the  nobleness  of 
his  wife-  For  these  two.  La  Marana  appeared  like  an  angel 
that  unlocks  the  doors  of  a  prison.     The  merchant's  fortune 


240  THE  MARANAS. 

and  honor  were  in  peril  at  the  moment,  and  he  needed  prompt 
and  secret  help ;  La  Marana  handed  over  to  him  the  sum  of 
money  intended  for  Juana's  dowry,  asking  neither  for  grati- 
tude nor  for  interest.  According  to  her  peculiar  notions  of 
jurisprudence,  a  contract  was  a  matter  of  the  heart,  a  stiletto 
the  remedy  in  the  hands  of  the  weak,  and  God  the  supreme 
Court  of  Appeal. 

She  told  Dona  Lagounia  the  story  of  her  miserable  situation, 
and  confided  her  child  and  her  child's  fortune  to  the  honor  of 
old  Spain,  and  the  untarnished  integrity  that  pervaded  the 
old  house.  Dona  Lagounia  had  no  children  of  her  own,  and 
was  delighted  to  have  an  adopted  daughter  to  bring  up.  The 
courtesan  took  leave  of  her  darling,  feeling  that  the  child's 
future  was  secure,  and  that  she  had  found  a  mother  for  Juana, 
a  mother  who  would  train  her  up  to  be  a  Mancini,  and  not  a 
Marana. 

Poor  Marana,  poor  bereaved  mother,  she  went  away  from 
the  merchant's  quiet  and  humble  home,  the  abode  of  domestic 
and  family  virtue  ;  and  felt  comforted  in  her  grief  as  she 
pictured  Juana  growing  up  in  that  atmosphere  of  religion, 
piety,  and  honor,  a  maiden,  a  wife,  and  a  mother,  a  happy 
mother,  not  for  a  few  brief  years,  but  all  through  a  long  lifetime. 
The  tears  that  fell  upon  the  threshold  were  tears  that  angels 
bear  to  heaven.  Since  that  day  of  mourning  and  of  hope  La 
Marana  had  thrice  returned  to  see  her  daughter,  an  irresistible 
presentiment  each  time  bringing  her  back.  The  first  time 
Juana  had  fallen  dangerously  ill. 

"  I  knew  it !  "  she  said  to  Perez,  as  she  entered  his  house. 

Far  away,  and  as  she  slept,  she  had  dreamed  that  Juana 
was  dying. 

She  watched  over  her  daughter  and  tended  her,  and  then 
one  morning,  when  the  danger  was  over,  she  kissed  the  sleep>- 
ing  girl's  forehead,  and  went  away  without  revealing  herself. 
The  mother  within  her  bade  the  courtesan  depart. 

A  second  time  La  Marana  came — this  time  to  the  church 


THE  MARANAS.  241 

where  Juana  dei  Mancini  made  her  first  communion.  The 
exiled  mother,  very  plainly  dressed,  stood  in  the  shadow 
behind  a  pillar,  and  saw  her  past  self  in  her  daughter,  saw  a 
divinely  fair  face  like  an  angel's,  pure  as  the  newly-fallen  snow 
on  the  heights  of  the  hills.  Even  in  La  Marana's  love  for 
her  child  there  was  a  trace  of  the  courtesan  ;  a  feeling  of 
jealousy  stronger  than  all  love  that  she  had  known  awoke  in 
her  heart,  and  she  left  the  church ;  she  could  no  longer  con- 
trol  a  wild  desire  to  stab  Dona  Lagounia,  who  stood  there 
with  that  look  of  happiness  upon  her  face,  too  really  a  mother 
to  her  child. 

The  last  meeting  between  the  two  had  taken  place  at  Milan, 
whither  the  merchant  and  his  wife  had  gone.  La  Marana, 
sweeping  along  the  Corso  in  almost  queenly  state,  flashed  like 
lightning  upon  her  daughter's  sight,  and  was  not  recognized. 
Her  anguish  was  terrible.  This  Marana  on  whom  kisses  were 
showered  must  hunger  for  one  kiss  in  vain,  one  for  which  she 
would  have  given  all  the  others,  the  girlish  glad  caress  a 
daughter  gives  her  mother,  her  honored  mother,  her  mother  in 
whom  all  womanly  virtues  shine.  Juana  as  long  as  she  lived 
wxs  dead  for  her. 

"What  is  it,  love?"  asked  the  Due  de  Lina,  and  at  the 
words  a  thought  revived  the  courtesan's  failing  heart,  a 
thought  that  gave  her  delicious  happiness — Juana  was  safe 
henceforward  !  She  might  perhaps  be  one  of  the  humblest 
of  women,  but  not  a  shameless  courtesan  to  whom  any  man 
might  say,  "  What  is  it,  love  ?  " 

Indeed,  the  merchant  and  his  wife  had  done  their  duty 
with  scrupulous  fidelity.  Juana's  fortune  in  their  hands  had 
been  doubled.  Perez  de  Lagounia  had  become  the  richest 
merchant  in  the  province,  and  in  his  feeling  towards  the 
young  girl  there  was  a  trace  of  superstition.  Her  coming  had 
saved  the  old  house  from  ruin  and  dishonor,  and  had  not  the 
presence  of  this  angel  brought  unlooked-for  prosperity?  His 
wife,  a  soul  of  gold,  a  refined  and  gentle  nature,  had  brought 
16 


242  THE  MARANAS. 

up  her  charge  devoutly ;  the  girl  was  as  pure  as  she  was 
beautiful.  Juana  was  equally  fitted  to  be  the  wife  of  a  rich 
merchant  or  of  a  noble ;  she  had  every  qualification  for  a 
brilliant  destiny.  But  for  the  war  that  had  broken  out,  Perez, 
who  dreamed  of  living  in  Madrid,  would  ere  now  have  given 
her  in  marriage  to  some  Spanish  grandee. 

*'  I  do  not  know  where  La  Marana  is  at  this  moment,"  he 
concluded  ;  "  but  wherever  she  may  be,  if  she  hears  that  our 
province  is  occupied  by  your  armies,  and  that  Taragona  has 
been  besieged,  she  is  sure  to  be  on  her  way  hither  to  watch 
over  her  daughter." 

This  story  wrought  a  change  in  the  captain's  intentions ; 
he  no  longer  thought  of  making  a  Marchesa  di  Moniefiore  of 
Juana  dei  Mancini.  He  recognized  the  Marana  blood  in 
that  swift  glance  the  girl  had  exchanged  with  him  from  her 
shelter  behind  the  blind,  in  the  stratagem  by  which  she  had 
satisfied  her  curiosity,  in  that  last  look  she  had  given  him ; 
and  the  libertine  meant  to  marry  a  virtuous  wife. 

This  would  be  a  dangerous  escapade,  no  doubt,  but  the 
perils  were  ^of  the  kind  that  never  sink  the  courage  of  the 
most  pusillanimous,  for  love  and  its  pleasures  would  reward 
them.  There  were  obstacles  everywhere ;  there  was  the 
apprentice  who  slept  on  the  counter,  and  the  servant-maid  on 
the  makeshift  couch  in  the  kitchen  ;  Perez  and  his  wife,  who 
kept  a  dragon's  watch  by  day,  were  old,  and  doubtless  slept 
lightly;  every  sound  echoed  through  the  house,  everything 
seemed  to  put  the  adventure  beyond  the  range  of  possibilities. 
But  as  a  set-ofF  against  these  things,  Montefiore  had  an  ally — 
the  blood  of  the  Marana,  which  throbbed  feverishly  in  the 
heart  of  the  lovely  Italian  girl  brought  up  as  a  Spaniard,  the 
maiden  athirst  for  love.  Passion,  the  girl's  nature,  and  Mon- 
tefiore were  a  combination  that  might  defy  the  whole  world. 

Prompted  quite  as  strongly  by  the  instincts  of  a  chartered 
libertine  as  by  the  vague  inexplicable  hopes  to  which  we  give 
the  name  of  presentiments,  a  word  that  describes  them  with 


THE  MARANAS.  243 

such  startling  aptness — Montefiore  took  up  his  stand  at  his 
window,  and  spent  the  early  hours  of  the  night  there,  looking 
down  in  the  presumed  direction  of  the  secret  hiding-place, 
where  the  old  couple  had  enshrined  their  darling,  the  joy  of 
their  old  age. 

The  warehouse  on  the  entresol  (to  make  use  of  a  French 
word  that  will  perhaps  make  the  disposition  of  the  house 
clearer  to  the  reader)  separated  the  two  young  people,  so  it 
was  idle  for  the  captain  to  try  to  convey  a  message  by  means 
of  tapping  upon  the  floor,  a  shift  for  speech  that  all  lovers  can 
devise  under  such  circumstances.  Chance,  however,  came  to 
his  assistance,  or  was  it  the  young  girl  herself?  Just  as  he 
took  his  stand  at  the  window  he  saw  a  circle  of  light  that  fell 
upon  the  grim  opposite  wall  of  the  yard,  and  in  the  midst  of 
it  a  dark  silhouette,  the  form  of  Juana.  Everything  that  she 
di4  was  shadowed  there  ;  from  her  attitude  and  the  move- 
ment of  her  arms,  she  seemed  to  be  arranging  her  hair  for  the 
night. 

" Is  she  alone ? "  Montefiore  asked  himself.  "If  I  weight 
a  letter  with  a  few  coins,  will  it  be  safe  to  dangle  it  by  a 
thread  against  the  round  window  that  no  doubt  lights  her 
cell?" 

He  wrote  a  note  forthwith,  a  note  characteristic  of  the 
officer,  of  the  soldier  sent  for  reasons  of  family  expediency 
to  the  isle  of  Elba,  of  the  former  dilettante  Marquis,  fallen 
from  his  high  estate,  and  become  a  captain  on  the  clothing 
establishment.  He  wrapped  some  coins  in  the  note,  devised 
a  string  out  of  various  odds  and  ends,  tied  up  the  packet  and 
let  it  down,  without  a  sound,  into  the  very  centre  of  that 
round  brightness. 

"If  her  mother  or  the  servant  is  with  her,"  Montefiore 
thought,  "I  shall  see  the  shadows  on  the  wall;  and  if  she 
is  not  alone,  I  will  draw  up  the  cord  at  once." 

But  when,  after  pains  innumerable,  which  can  readily  be 
imagined,  the  weighted  packet  tapped  at  the  glass,  only  one 


244  THE  MARANAS. 

shadow  appeared,  and  it  was  the  slender  figure  of  Juana  that 
flitted  across  the  wall.  Noiselessly  the  young  girl  opened  the 
circular  window,  saw  the  packet,  took  it  in,  and  stood  for  a 
while  reading  it. 

Montefiore  had  written  in  his  own  name  and  entreated  an 
interview.  He  offered,  in  the  style  of  old  romances,  his  heart 
and  hand  to  Juana  dei  Mancini — a  base  and  commonplace 
stratagem  that  nearly  always  succeeds  !  At  Juana's  age,  is 
not  nobility  of  soul  an  added  danger?  A  poet  of  our  own 
days  has  gracefully  said  that  "only  in  her  strength  does 
woman  yield."  Let  a  lover,  when  he  is  most  beloved,  feign 
doubts  of  the  love  that  he  inspires,  and  in  her  pride  and  her 
trust  in  him,  a  girl  would  invent  sacrifices  for  his  sake,  know- 
ing neither  the  world  nor  man's  nature  well  enough  to  retain 
her  self-command  when  passion  stirs  within  her,  and  to  over- 
whelm with  her  scorn  the  lover  who  can  accept  a  whole,  life 
oifered  to  him  to  turn  away  a  groundless  reproach. 

In  our  sublimely  constituted  society  a  young  girl  is  placed 
in  a  painful  dilemma  between  the  forecasts  of  prudent  virtue 
on  the  one  hand,  and  the  consequences  of  error  upon  the 
other.  If  she  resists,  it  not  seldom  happens  that  she  loses  a 
lover  and  the  first  love,  that  is  the  most  attractive  of  all ;  and 
if  she  is  imprudent,  she  loses  a  marriage.  Cast  an  eye  over 
the  vicissitudes  of  social  life  in  Paris,  and  it  is  impossible  to 
doubt  the  necessity  of  a  religion  that  shall  ensure  that  there 
are  no  more  young  girls  seduced  daily.  And  Paris  is  situated 
in  the  forty-eighth -degree  of  latitude,  while  Taragona  lies 
below  the  forty-first.  The  old  question  of  climate  is  still  use- 
ful to  the  novelist  seeking  an  excuse  for  the  suddenness  of  his 
catastrophe,  and  is  made  to  explain  the  imprudence  or  the 
dilatoriness  of  a  pair  of  lovers. 

Montefiore's  eyes  were,  fixed  meanwhile  on  the  charming 
silhouette  in  the  midst  of  the  bright  circle.  Neither  he  nor 
Juana  could  see  each  other ;  an  unlucky  archway  above  her 
casement,  with  perverse  malignity,  cut  off  all  chances  of  com- 


THE  MARANAS.  245 

munication  by  signs,  such  as  two  lovers  can  contrive  by  lean- 
ing out  of  their  windows.  So  the  captain  concentrated  his 
whole  mind  and  attention  upon  the  round  patch  on  the  wall. 
Perhaps  all  unwittingly  the  girl's  movements  might  betray 
her  thoughts.  Here  again  he  was  foiled.  Juana's  strange 
proceedings  gave  Montefiore  no  room  for  the  faintest  hope ; 
she  was  amusing  herself  by  cutting  up  the  billet. 

It  often  happens  that  virtue  and  discretion,  in  distrust, 
adopt  shifts  familiar  to  the  jealous  Bartholos  of  comedy- 
Juana,  having  neither  paper,  pen,  nor  ink,  was  scratching 
an  answer  with  the  point  of  a  pair  of  scissors.  In  another 
moment  she  tied  the  scrap  of  paper  to  the  string,  the  officer 
drew  it  in,  opened  it,  held  it  up  against  the  lamp,  and  read 
the  perforated  characters — "  Come,"  it  said. 

"  'Come?'  "  said  he  to  himself.  "  Poison,  and  carbine, 
and  Perez'  dagger  !  And  how  about  the  apprentice  hardly 
asleep  on  the  counter  by  this  time,  and  the  servant  in  her 
hammock,  and  the  house  booming  like  a  bass  viol  with  every 
sound  ?  why,  I  can  hear  old  Perez  snoring  away  upstairs  ! 
*  Come  !  ' Then,  has  she  nothing  to  lose  ?  '* 

Acute  reflection  !  Libertines  alone  can  reason  thus  logi- 
cally, and  punish  a  woman  for  her  devotion.  The  imagina- 
tion of  man  has  created  Satan  and  Lovelace,  but  a  maiden  is 
an  angelic  being  to  whom  he  can  lend  nothing  but  his  vices ; 
so  lofty,  so  fair  is  she,  that  he  cannot  set  her  higher  nor  add 
to  her  beauty  ;  he  has  but  the  fatal  power  of  blighting  this 
creation  by  dragging  it  down  to  his  miry  level. 

Montefiore  waited  till  the  drowsiest  hour  of  the  night,  then 
in  spite  of  his  sober  second  thoughts,  he  crept  downstairs. 
He  had  taken  off  his  shoes,  and  carried  his  pistols  with  him, 
and  now  he  groped  his  way  step  by  step,  stopping  to  listen  in 
the  silence ;  trying  each  separate  stair,  straining  his  eyes 
till  he  almost  saw  in  the  darkness,  and  ready  to  turn  back  at 
any  moment  if  the  least  thing  befell  him.  He  wore  his  hand- 
somest uniform  ;  he  had  perfumed  his  dark  hair,  and  taken 


246  THE  MARANAS. 

pains  with  the  toilet  that  set  off  his  natural  good  looks.  On 
occasions  like  these,  most  men  are  as  much  a  woman  as  any 
woman. 

Montefiore  managed  to  reach  the  door  of  the  girl's  secret 
hiding-place  without  difficulty.  It  was  a  little  cabinet  con- 
trived in  a  corner  which  projected  into  another  dwelling,  a 
not  unusual  freak  of  the  builder  where  ground-rents  are  high, 
and  houses  in  consequence  packed  very  tightly  together. 
Here  Juana  lived  alone,  day  and  night,  out  of  sight  of  all 
eyes.  Hitherto  she  had  slept  near  her  adopted  mother  ;  but 
when  Perez  and  his  wife  removed  to  the  top  of  the  house,  the 
arrangements  of  the  attics  did  not  permit  of  their  taking 
their  ward  thither  also.  So  Dona  Lagounia  had  left  the  girl 
to  the  guardianship  of  the  lock  of  the  secret  door,  to  the  pro- 
tection of  religious  ideas,  butso  much  the  more  powerful  be- 
cause they  had  become  superstitions ;  and  with  the  further 
safeguards  of  a  natural  pride,  and  the  shrinking  delicacy  of 
the  sensitive  plant,  which  made  Juana  an  exception  among  her 
sex,  for  to  the  most  pathetic  innocence  Juana  Mancini  united 
no  less  the  most  passionate  aspirations.  It  had  needed  a  re- 
tired life  and  devout  training  to  quiet  and  to  cool  the  hot 
blood  of  the  Maranas  that  glowed  in  her  veins,  the  impulses 
that  her  adopted  mother  called  temptations  of  the  Evil  one. 

A  faint  gleam  of  light  beneath  the  door  in  the  panels  dis- 
covered its  whereabouts  for  Montefiore.  He  tapped  softly 
with  the  tips  of  his  finger-nails,  and  Juana  let  him  in. 
Quivering  from  head  to  foot  with  excitement,  he  met  the 
young  girl's  look  of  nav'ie  curiosity,  and  read  the  most  com- 
plete ignorance  of  her  peril,  and  a  sort  of  childlike  admira- 
tion in  her  eyes.  He  stood,  awed  for  a  moment  by  the 
picture  of  the  sanctuary  before  him. 

The  walls  were  hung  with  gray  tapestry,  covered  with 
violet  flowers.  A  small  ebony  chest,  an  antique  mirror,  a 
huge  old-fashioned  armchair,  also  made  of  ebony,  and  covered 
with  tapestry  ;  another  chair  beside  the  spindle-legged  table, 


THE  MARANAS.  847 

a  pretty  carpet  on  the  floor — that  was  all.  But  there  were 
flowers  on  the  table  beside  some  embroidery  work,  and  at  the 
other  end  of  the  room  stood  the  little  narrow  bed  on  which 
Juana  dreamed  ;  three  pictures  hung  on  the  wall  above  it, 
and  at  the  head  stood  a  crucifix  above  a  little  holy  water 
stoup,  and  a  prayer  framed  and  illuminated  in  gold.  The 
room  was  full  of  the  faint  perfume  of  the  flowers,  of  the  soft 
light  of  the  tapers ;  it  all  seemed  so  quiet,  pure,  and  sacred. 
The  subtle  charm  of  Juana's  dreamy  fancies,  nay  of  Juana 
herself,  seemed  to  pervade  everything  ;  her  soul  was  revealed 
by  her  surroundings ;  the  pearl  lay  there  in  its  shell. 

Juana,  clad  in  white,  with  no  ornament  save  her  own  love- 
liness, letting  fall  her  rosary  to  call  on  the  name  of  Love, 
would  have  inspired  even  Montefiore  with  reverence  if  it  had 
not  been  for  the  night  about  them  and  the  silence,  if  Juana 
had  welcomed  love  less  eagerly,  if  the  little  white  bed  had  not 
displayed  the  turned-down  coverlet — the  pillow,  confidante 
of  innumerable  vague  longings.  Montefiore  stood  there  for 
long,  intoxicated  by  joy  hitherto  unknown  ;  such  joy  as  Satan, 
it  may  be,  would  know  at  a  glimpse  of  paradise  if  the  cloud- 
veil  that  envelops  heaven  was  rent  away  for  a  moment. 

"I  loved  you  the  first  moment  that  I  saw  you,"  he  said, 
speaking  pure  Tuscan  in  the  tones  of  his  musical  Italian  voice. 
*'  In  you  my  soul  and  my  life  are  set;  if  you  so  will  it,  they 
shall  be  yours  forever." 

To  Juana  listening,  the  air  she  breathed  seemed  to  vibrate 
with  the  words  grown  magical  upon  her  lover's  tongue. 

"  Poor  little  girl !  how  have  you  breathed  the  atmosphere 
of  this  gloomy  place  so  long,  and  lived  ?  You  meant  to  reign 
like  a  queen  in  the  world,  to  dwell  in  the  palace  of  a  prince, 
to  pass  from  festival  to  festival,  to  feel  in  your  own  heart  the 
joys  that  you  create,  to  see  the  world  at  your  feet,  to  make 
the  fairest  splendors  pale  before  the  glorious  beauty  that  shall 
never  be  rivaled — you  have  lived  here  in  seclusion  with  this 
old  tradesman  and  his  wife  !  " 


248  THE   MARANAS. 

There  was  a  purpose  in  his  exclamation  ;  he  wanted  to  find 
out  whether  or  no  Juana  had  ever  had  a  lover. 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  "But  who  can  have  told  you  my 
inmost  thoughts  ?  For  these  twelve  months  past  I  have  been 
weary  to  death  of  it.  Yes,  I  would  die  rather  than  stay  any 
longer  in  tins  house.  Do  you  see  this  embroidery  ?  I  have 
set  countless  dreadful  thoughts  into  every  stitch  of  it.  How 
often  I  have  longed  to  run  away  and  fling  myself  into  the  sea! 

Do   you   ask   why?     I   have    forgotten    already Childish 

troubles,  but  very  keenly  felt  in  spite  of  their  childishness 

Often  at  night  when  I  kissed  my  mother,  I  have  given  her 
such  a  kiss  as  one  gives  for  a  last  farewell,  saying  in  ray  heart, 
I  will  kill  myself  to-morrow.  After  all,  I  did  not  die.  Sui- 
cides go  to  hell,  and  I  was  so  much  afraid  of  that,  that  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  endure  my  life,  to  get  up  and  go  to  bed,  and 
do  the  same  things  hour  after  hour  of  every  day.  My  life 
was  not  irksome,  it  was  painful.  And  yet,  my  father  and 
mother  worship  me.  Oh  !  I  am  wicked  !  indeed,  I  tell  my 
confessor  so." 

**  Then  have  you  always  lived  here  without  amusements, 
without  pleasures  ? ' ' 

**  Oh  1  I  have  not  always  felt  like  this.  Until  I  was  fifteen 
years  old,  I  enjoyed  seeing  the  festivals  of  the  Church  ;  I 
loved  the  singing  and  the  music.  I  was  so  happy,  because  I 
felt  that,  like  the  angels,  I  was  sinless,  so  glad  that  I  might 
take  the  sacrament  every  week  ;  in  short,  I  loved  God  then. 
But  in  these  three  years  I  have  changed  utterly,  day  by  day. 
It  began  when  I  wanted  flowers  here  in  the  house,  and  they 

gave  me  very  beautiful  ones;  then  I  wanted But  now  I 

want  nothing  any  longer,"  she  added,  after  a  pause,  and  she 
smiled  at  Montefiore. 

"  Did  you  not  tell  me  just  now  in  your  letter  that  you  would 
love  me  forever?  " 

"Yes,  my  Juana,"  murmured  Montefiore.  He  put  his 
arm  round  the  waist  of  this  adorable  girl  and  pressed  her 


THE   MARANAS.  249 

closely  to  his  heart.  "  Yes.  But  let  me  speak  to  you  as  you 
pray  to  God.  Are  you  not  fairer  than  Our  Lady  in  heaven  ? 
Hear  me,"  and  he  set  a  kiss  in  her  hair,  "  for  me  that  fore- 
head of  yours  is  the  fairest  altar  on  earth ;  I  swear  to  worship 
you,  my  idol,  to  pour  out  all  the  wealth  of  the  world  upon 
you.  My  carriages  are  yours,  my  palace  in  Milan  is  yours, 
yours  all  the  jewels  and  the  diamonds,  the  heirlooms  of  my 
ancient  house ;  new  ornaments  and  dresses  every  day,  and  all 
the  countless  pleasures  and  delights  of  the  world." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  should  like  it  all  very  much;  but  in 
my  soul  I  feel  that  I  should  love  my  dear  husband  more  than 
all  things  else  in  the  world." 

Mio  caro  sposo  /  Italian  was  Juana's  native  speech,  and  it 
is  impossible  to  put  into  two  words  of  another  language  the 
wonderful  tenderness,  the  winning  grace  with  which  that  brief 
delicious  phrase  is  invested  by  the  accents  of  an  Italian 
tongue.  "  I  shall  find,"  she  said,  and  the  purity  of  a  seraph 
shone  in  her  e}''es,  "  I  shall  find  my  beloved  religion  again  in 

him.     His  and  God's,  God's  and  his  ! But  you  are  he, 

are  you  not?  "  she  cried,  after  a  pause.  "  Surely,  surely  you 
are  he  !  Ah  !  come  and  see  the  picture  that  my  father  brought 
me  from  Italy." 

She  took  up  a  candle,  beckoned  to  Montefiore,  and  showed 
him  a  picture  that  hung  at  the  foot  of  the  bed — Saint  Michael 
trampling  Satan  under  foot. 

''Look!  "  she  cried,  "has  he  not  your  eyes?  That  made 
me  think,  as  soon  as  I  saw  you  in  the  street,  that  in  the  meet- 
ing I  saw  the  finger  of  heaven.  So  often  I  have  lain  awake 
in  the  morning  before  my  mother  came  to  call  me  to  prayer, 
thinking  about  that  picture,  looking  at  the  angel,  until  at  last 
I  came  to  think  that  he  was  my  husband.  MonDieu  /  I  am 
talking  as  I  think  to  myself.  What  wild  nonsense  it  must 
seem  to  you  !  but  if  you  only  knew  how  a  poor  recluse  longs  to 
pour  out  the  thoughts  that  oppress  her !  I  used  to  talk  to 
these  flowers  and  the  woven  garlands  on  the  tapestry  when  I 


250  THE  MARANAS. 

was  alone ;  they  understood  me  better,  I  think,  than  my  father 
and  mother — always  so  serious " 

**  Juana,"  said  Montefiore,  as  he  took  her  hands  and  kissed 
them,  passion  shone  in  his  eyes  and  overflowed  in  his  gestures 
and  in  the  sound  of  his  voice,  "  talk  to  me  as  if  I  were  your 
husband,  talk  to  me  as  you  talk  to  yourself.  I  have  suffered 
all  that  you  have  suffered.  Few  words  will  be  needed,  when 
we  talk  together,  to  bring  back  the  whole  past  of  either  life 
before  we  met ;  but  there  are  not  words  enough  in  language  to 
tell  of  the  bliss  that  lies  before  us.  Lay  your  hand  on  my 
heart.  Do  you  feel  how  it  beats?  Let  us  vow,  before  God, 
who  sees  and  hears  us,  to  be  faithful  to  each  other  all  our  lives. 
Stay,  take  this  ring.     Give  me  yours." 

"  Give  away  my  ring?  "  she  cried,  startled. 

"Why  not?"  asked  Montefiore,  dismayed  by  so  much 
simplicity. 

**  Why,  it  came  to  me  from  our  Holy  Father  the  Pope. 
When  I  was  a  little  girl  a  beautiful  lady  set  it  on  my  finger; 
she  took  care  of  me,  and  brought  me  here,  and  she  told  me  to 
keep  it  always." 

"Then  you  do  not  love  me,  Juana?  " 

"Ah  !  here  it  is,"  she  cried.  "Are  you  not  more  myself 
than  I?" 

She  held  out  the  ring,  trembling  as  she  did  so,  keeping  her 
fingers  tightly  clasped  upon  it  as  she  looked  at  Montefiore  with 
clear,  questioning  eyes.  That  ring  meant  her  whole  self:  she 
gave  it  to  him. 

"Oh  !  my  Juana  !  "  said  Montefiore  as  he  held  her  closely 
in  his  arms,  "only  a  monster  could  be  false  to  you.  I  will 
love  you  for  ever." 

Juana  grew  dreamy.  Montefiore,  thinking  within  himself 
that  in  his  first  interview,  he  must  not  run  the  slightest  risk  of 
startling  a  girl  so  innocent,  whose  imprudence  sprang  rather 
from  virtue  than  from  desire,  was  fain  to  content  himself  with 
thinking  of  the  future  of  her  beauty  now  that  he  had  known 


THE  MARANAS.  251 

its  power,  and  of  the  innocent  marriage  of  the  ring,  that  most 
sublime  of  betrothals,  the  simplest  and  most  binding  of  all 
ceremonies,  the  betrothal  of  the  heart. 

For  the  rest  of  the  night,  and  all  day  long  on  the  morrow 
Juana's  imagination  would  surely  become  the  accomplice  of 
his  desires.  So  he  put  constraint  upon  himself,  and  tried  to 
be  as  respectful  as  he  was  tender.  With  these  thoughts  present 
in  his  mind,  prompted  by  his  passion,  and  yet  more  by  the 
desires  that  Juana  inspired  in  him,  his  words  were  insinuating 
and  fervent.  He  led  the  innocent  child  to  plan  out  the  new 
life  before  them,  painted  the  world  for  her  in  the  most  glow- 
ing colors,  dwelt  on  the  household  details  that  possess  such 
a  delightful  interest  for  young  girls,  and  made  with  her  the 
compacts  over  which  lovers  dispute,  the  agreements  that  give 
rights  and  reality  to  love.  Then,  when  they  had  decided  the 
hour  for  their  nightly  tryst,  he  went,  leaving  a  happy  but  a 
changed  Juana.  The  simple  and  innocent  Juana  no  longer 
existed,  already  there  was  more  passion  than  a  girl  should 
reveal  in  the  last  glance  that  she  gave  him,  in  the  charming 
way  that  she  held  up  her  forehead  for  the  touch  of  her  lover's 
lips.  It  was  all  the  result  of  solitude  and  irksome  tasks  upon 
this  nature ;  if  she  was  to  be  prudent  and  virtuous,  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  world  should  either  have  come  to  her  gradually 
or  have  been  hidden  from  her  for  ever. 

"  How  slowly  the  day  will  go  to-morrow!  "  she  said,  as 
another  kiss,  still  respectfully  given,  was  pressed  upon  her 
forehead, 

**  But  you  will  sit  in  the  dining-room,  will  you  not  ?  and 
raise  your  voice  a  little  when  you  talk,  so  that  I  may  hear  you, 
and  the  sound  may  fill  my  heart." 

Montefiore,  beginning  to  understand  the  life  that  Juana  led, 
was  but  the  better  pleased  that  he  had  managed  to  restrain  his 
desires  that  he  might  the  better  secure  his  end.  He  returned 
to  his  room  without  mishap. 

Ten  days  went  by,  and  nothing  occurred  to  disturb  the 


252  THE   MARANAS. 

peace  and  quiet  of  the  house.  Montefiore,  with  the  persua- 
sive manners  of  an  Italian,  had  gained  the  good  graces  of  old 
Perez  and  Dona  Lagounia ;  indeed,  he  was  popular  with  the 
whole  household — with  the  apprentice  and  the  maidservant ; 
but  in  spite  of  the  confidence  that  he  had  succeeded  in  inspir- 
ing in  them,  he  never  attempted  to  take  advantage  of  it  to 
ask  to  see  Juana,  or  to  open  the  door  of  that  little  sealed 
paradise.  The  Italian  girl,  in  her  longing  to  see  her  lover,  had 
often  besought  him  to  do  this,  but  from  motives  of  prudence 
he  had  always  refused.  On  the  contrary,  he  had  used  the 
character  he  had  gained  and  all  his  skill  to  lull  the  suspicions 
of  the  old  couple  ;  he  had  accustomed  them  to  his  habit  of 
never  rising  till  mid-day,  soldier  as  he  was.  The  captain  gave 
out  that  his  health  was  bad.  So  the  two  lovers  only  lived 
at  night  when  all  the  household  was  asleep. 

If  Montefiore  had  not  been  a  libertine  to  whom  a  long 
experience  of  pleasure  had  given  presence  of  mind  under  all 
conditions,  they  would  have  been  lost  half  a  score  of  times  in 
those  ten  days.  A  young  lover,  with  the  single-heartedness 
of  first  love,  would  have  been  tempted  in  his  rapture  into 
imprudences  that  were  very  hard  to  resist ;  but  the  Italian  was 
proof  even  against  Juana,  against  her  pouting  lips,  her  wild 
spirits,  against  a  Juana  who  wound  the  long  plaits  of  her  hair 
about  his  throat  to  keep  him  by  her  side.  The  keenest 
observer  would  have  been  sorely  puzzled  to  detect  those  mid- 
night meetings.  It  may  well  be  believed  that  the  Italian, 
sure  of  his  ultimate  success,  enjoyed  prolonging  the  ineffable 
pleasure  of  this  intrigue  in  which  he  made  progress  step  V'y 
step,  in  fanning  the  flame  that  gradually  waxed  hotter,  till 
everything  must  yield  to  it  at  last. 

On  the  eleventh  day,  as  they  sat  at  dinner,  he  deemed  it 
expedient  to  confide  to  Perez  (under  the  seal  of  secrecy)  the 
history  of  the  disgrace  into  which  he  had  fallen  among  his 
family.     It  was  a  mesalliance,  he  said. 

There  was  something  revolting  in  this  lie,  told  as  a  confi- 


THE  MARANAS.  253 

dence,  while  that  midnight  drama  was  in  progress  beneath 
the  old  man's  roof.  Montefiore,  an  experienced  actor,  was 
leading  up  to  a  catastrophe  planned  by  himself;  and,  like 
an  artist  who  loves  his  art,  he  enjoyed  the  thought  of  it. 
He  meant  very  shortly  to  take  leave  of  the  house  and  of  his 
lady-love  without  regret.  And  when  Juana,  risking  her  life 
it  might  be  to  ask  the  question,  should  inquire  of  Perez 
what  had  become  of  their  guest,  Perez  would  tell  her,  all 
unwittingly,  that  "  the  Marchese  di  Montefiore  has  been  recon- 
ciled with  his  family ;  they  have  consented  to  receive  his  wife, 
and  he  has  taken  her  to  them." 

And  Juana  ? The  Italian  never  inquired  of  himself  what 

would  become  of  her;  he  had  had  ample  opportunity  of 
knowing  her  nobleness,  her  innocence,  and  her  goodness,  and 
felt  sure  that  Juana  would  keep  silence. 

He  obtained  a  message  to  carry  for  some  general  or  other. 
Three  days  afterwards,  on  the  night  before  he  must  start, 
Montefiore  went  straight  to  Juana's  room  instead  of  going  first 
to  his  own.  The  same  instinct  that  bids  the  tiger  leave  no 
morsel  of  his  prey  prompted  the  Italian  to  lengthen  the  night 
of  farewells.  Juana,  the  true  daughter  of  two  southern  lands, 
with  the  passion  of  Spain  and  of  Italy  in  her  heart,  was  enrap- 
tured by  the  boldness  that  brought  her  lover  to  her  and  re- 
vealed the  ardor  of  his  love.  To  know  the  delicious  torment 
of  an  illicit  passion  under  the  sanction  of  marriage,  to  conceal 
her  husb.md  behind  the  bed-curtains,  half  deceiving  the 
adopted  father  and  mother,  to  whom  she  could  say  in  case  of 
discovery,  **I  am  the  Marchesa  di  Montefiore,"  was  not  this 
a  festival  for  the  young  and  romantic  girl  who,  for  three  years 
past,  had  dreamed  of  love — love  always  beset  with  perils  ? 
The  curtains  of  the  door  fell,  drawing  about  their  madness 
and  happiness  a  veil  which  it  is  useless  to  raise. 

It  was  nearly  nine  o'clock,  the  merchant  and  his  wife  were 
reading  the  evening  prayer,  when  suddenly  the  sound  of  a 
carriage,  drawn  by  several  horses,  came  from  the  narrow  street 


254  THE  MARANAS. 

without.  Some  one  knocked  hastily  and  loudly  at  the  door 
of  the  shop.  The  servant  ran  to  open  it,  and  in  a  moment  a 
woman  sprang  into  the  quaint  old  room — a  woman  magnifi- 
cently dressed,  though  her  traveling  carriage  was  besplashed 
by  the  mire  of  many  roads,  for  she  had  crossed  Italy  and 
France  and  Spain.  It  was  La  Marana  !  La  Marana,  in  spite 
of  her  thirty-six  years  and  her  riotous  life,  in  the  full  pride  of 
her  beltafolgorante,  to  record  the  superb  epithet  invented  for 
her  in  Milan  by  her  enraptured  adorers.  La  Marana,  the 
openly  avowed  mistress  of  a  king,  had  left  Naples  and  its 
festivals  and  sunny  skies,  at  the  very  height  and  summit  of 
her  strange  career — had  left  gold  and  madrigals  and  silks  and 
perfumes,  and  her  royal  lover,  when  she  learned  from  him 
what  was  passing  in  Spain,  and  how  that  Taragona  was  besieged. 

"  Taragona !  "  she  cried,  /'  and  before  the  city  is  taken  !  I 
must  be  in  Taragona  in  ten  days !  "  And  without  another 
thought  for  courts  or  crowned  heads,  she  had  reached  Tara- 
gona, provided  with  a  passport  that  gave  her  something  like 
the  powers  of  an  empress,  and  with  gold  that  enabled  her  to 
cross  the  French  empire  with  the  speed  and  splendor  of  a 
rocket.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  distance  for  a  mother ;  she 
who  is  a  mother,  indeed,  sees  her  child,  and  knows  by  instinct 
how  it  fares  though  they  are  as  far  apart  as  the  poles. 

"  My  daughter  !  my  daughter  !"  cried  La  Marana. 

At  that  cry,  at  this  swift  invasion  of  their  house,  and  appa- 
rition of  a  queen  traveling  incognito,  Perez  and  his  wife  let 
the  prayer-book  fall ;  that  voice  rang  in  their  ears  like  a  thun- 
der-clap, and  La  Marana's  eyes  flashed  lightnings. 

"She  is  in  there,"  the  merchant  answered  quietly,  after  a 
brief  pause,  during  which  they  recovered  from  the  sliock  of 
surprise  caused  by  La  Marana's  sudden  appearance,  and  by 
her  look  and  tone.  "  She  is  in  there,"  he  said  again,  indi- 
cating the  little  hiding-place. 

**  Yes,  but  has  she  not  been  ill  ?     Is  she  quite " 

"Perfectly  well,"  said  Dofia  Lagounia. 


THE  MARANAS.  255 

"Oh,  God  !  "  cried  La  Marana,  "plunge  me  now  in  hell 
for  all  eternity,  if  it  be  Thy  pleasure,"  and  she  sank  down 
utterly  exhausted  into  a  chair. 

The  flush  that  anxiety  had  brought  to  her  face  faded  sud- 
denly ;  her  cheeks  grew  white  ;  she  who  had  borne  up  bravely 
under  the  strain,  had  no  strength  left  when  it  was  over.  The 
joy  was  too  intolerable,  a  joy  more  intense  than  her  previous 
distress,  for  she  was  still  vibrating  with  dread,  when  bliss  keen 
as  anguish  came  upon  her. 

"  But  how  have  you  done  !  "  she  asked.  "  Taragona  was 
taken  by  assault." 

"Yes,"  answered  Perez.  "  But  when  you  saw  that  I  was 
alive,  how  could  you  ask  such  a  question  ?  How  should  any 
one  reach  Juana  but  over  my  dead  body?" 

The  courtesan  grasped  Perez'  horny  hand  on  receiving  this 
answer  ;  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes  and  fell  upon  his  fingers 
as  she  kissed  them — the  costliest  of  all  things  under  the  sun 
for  her,  who  never  wept. 

"Brave  Perez!"  she  said  at  last;  "but  surely  there  are 
soldiers  billeted  upon  you,  are  there  not?" 

'•'  Only  one,"  answered  the  Spaniard.  "Luckily,  we  have 
one  of  the  most  honorable  of  men,  an  Italian  by  nationality, 
a  Spaniard  by  birth,  a  hater  of  Bonaparte,  a  married  man,  a 
steady  character.  He  rises  late,  and  goes  to  bed  early.  He 
is  in  bad  health,  too,  just  now." 

"  An  Italian  !     What  is  his  name  ?  " 

"  Captain  Montefiore,  he " 

"  Why,  he  is  not  the  Marchese  di  Montefiore,  is  he  ?  " 

"  Yes,  seiiora,  the  very  same." 

"  Has  he  seen  Juana  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Dona  Lagounia. 

**You  are  mistaken,  wife,"  said  Perez.  "The  Marquis 
must  have  seen  Juana  once,  only  for  a  moment,  it  is  true,  but 
I  think  he  must  have  seen  her  that  day  when  she  came  in  at 
supper- time." 


256  THE   MARANAS. 

"  Ah  !  I  should  like  to  see  my  daughter." 

"  Nothing  is  easier,"  said  Perez.  '*  She  is  asleep.  Though 
if  she  has  left  the  key  in  the  lock,  we  shall  have  to  wake 
her." 

As  the  merchant  rose  to  take  down  the  duplicate  key  from 
its  place,  he  happened  to  glance  up  through  the  tall  window. 
The  light  from  the  large  round  pane-opening  of  Juana's  cell 
fell  upon  the  dark  wall  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  yard, 
tracing  a  gleaming  circle  there,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  lighted 
space  he  saw  two  shadowy  figures  such  as  no  sculptor  till  the 
time  of  the  gifted  Canova  could  have  dreamed  of.  The 
Spaniard  turned  to  the  room  again. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  he  said  to  La  Marana,  "  where  we  have 
put  the  key — — " 

**  You  look  very  pale  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"I  will  soon  tell  you  why,"  he  answered,  as  he  sprang 
towards  his  dagger,  caught  it  up,  and  beat  violently  on  the 
door  in  the  paneling.  "Open  the  door!"  he  shouted. 
"  Juana  !  open  the  door !  " 

There  was  an  appalling  despair  in  his  tones  that  struck 
terror  into  the  two  women  who  heard  him. 

Juana  did  not  open,  because  there  was  some  delay  in  hiding 
Montefiore.  She  knew  nothing  of  what  had  passed  in  the 
room  without.  The  tapestry  hangings  on  either  side  of  the 
door  deadened  all  sounds. 

"  Madame,"  said  Perez,  turning  to  La  Marana,  "  I  told  you 
just  now  that  I  did  not  know  where  the  key  was.  That  was 
a  lie.  Here  it  is,"  and  he  took  it  from  the  sideboard,  "  but 
it  is  useless.  Juana's  key  is  in  the  lock,  and  her  door  is  bar- 
ricaded. We  are  deceived,  wife  !  There  is  a  man  in  Juana's 
room." 

"  By  my  hopes  of  salvation,  the  thing  is  impossible !  " 
said  Dona  Lagounia. 

"  Do  not  perjure  yourself,  Dofia  Lagounia.  Our  honor  is 
slain  ;  and  she^^  (he  turned  to  La  Marana,  who  had  risen  to  her 


THE  MARANAS.  257 

feet,  and  stood  motionless  as  if  thunderstruck  by  his  words), 
**  she  may  well  scorn  us.  She  saved  our  lives,  our  fortune,  and 
our  honor,  and  we  have  barely  guarded  her  money  for  her — 
Juana,  open  the  door !  "  he  shouted,  **  or  I  will  break  it  down !  " 

The  whole  house  rang  with  the  cry ;  his  voice  grew  louder 
and  angrier;  but  he  was  cool  and  self-possessed.  He  held 
Montefiore's  life  in  his  hands,  in  another  moment  he  would 
wash  away  his  remorse  in  every  drop  of  the  Italian's  blood. 

"  Go  out  !  go  out  !  go  out !  all  of  you  !  "  cried  La  Marana, 
and  springing  for  the  dagger  like  a  tigress,  she  snatched  it 
from  the  hand  of  the  astonished  Perez.  "  Go  out  of  this 
room,  Perez,"  she  went  on,  speaking  quite  quietly  now.  "  Go 
out,  you  and  your  wife,  and  the  maid  and  the  apprentice. 
There  will  be  a  murder  here  directly,  and  you  might  all  be 
shot  down  by  the  French  for  it.  Do  not  you  mix  yourself  up 
in  it,  it  is  my  affair  entirely.  When  my  daughter  and  I  meet, 
God  alone  should  be  present.  As  for  the  man,  he  is  mine. 
The  whole  world  should  not  snatch  him  out  of  my  hands. 
There,  there,  go  !  I  forgive  you.  I  see  it  all.  The  girl  is  a 
Marana.  My  blood  flows  in  her  veins,  and  you,  your  religion, 
and  your  honor  have  been  powerless  against  it." 

Her  groan  was  dreadful  to  hear.  She  turned  dry  eyes  upon 
them.  She  had  lost  everything,  but  she  was  accustomed  to 
suffering ;  she  was  a  courtesan.  The  door  opened.  La 
Marana  henceforth  heeded  nothing  else,  and  Perez,  making  a 
sign  to  his  wife,  could  remain  at  his  post.  The  old  Spaniard, 
implacable  where  honor  was  concerned,  determined  to  assist 
the  wronged  mother's  vengeance.  Juana,  in  her  white  drap- 
eries, stood  quietly  there  in  her  room  in  the  soft  lamplight. 
"  What  do  you  want  with  me  ?  "  she  asked. 

In  spite  of  herself,  a  light  shudder  ran  through  La  Marana. 

"Perez,"  she  asked,  "is  there  any  other  way  out  of  this 
closet?" 

Perez  shook  his  head ;  and  on  that  the  courtesan  went  into 
the  room. 
17 


258  THE  MARANAS. 

"  Juana,"  she  said,  **  I  am  your  mother,  your  judge — you 
have  put  yourself  in  the  one  situation  in  which  I  can  reveal 
myself  to  you.  You  have  come  to  my  level,  you  whom  I  had 
thought  to  raise  to  heaven.  Oh !  you  have  fallen  very 
low ! You  have  a  lover  in  your  room." 

"  Madame,  no  one  but  my  husband  should  or  could  be 
there,"  she  answered.     "  I  am  the  Marchesa  di  Montefiore." 

"Then  are  there  two  of  them?  "  asked  old  Perez  sternly. 
"  He  told  me  that  he  was  married." 

"Montefiore  !  my  love  !  "  cried  the  girl,  rending  the  cur- 
tains, and  discovering  the  ofi&cer;  "come  forward,  these 
people  are  slandering  you. ' ' 

The  Italian's  face  was  haggard  and  pale;  he  saw  the 
dagger  in  La  Marana's  hand,  and  he  knew  La  Marana.  At 
one  bound  he  sprang  out  of  the  chamber,  and  with  a  voice  of 
thunder  shouted,  "  Help  !  help  !  murder  !  they  are  killing  a 
Frenchman  !  Soldiers  of  the  Sixth  of  the  line,  run  for  Cap- 
tain Diard  ! Help!" 

Perez  had  secured  the  Marquis,  and  was  about  to  gag  him 
by  putting  his  large  hand  over  the  soldier's  mouth,  when  the 
courtesan  stopped  him. 

"  Hold  him  fast,"  she  said,  **  but  let  him  call.  Throw  open 
the  doors,  and  leave  them  open ;  and  now  go  out,  all  of  you, 
I  tell  you  !     As  for  you,"  she  continued,  addressing  Monte- 

fiore,  "  shout,  and   call  for  help As  soon  as  there  is  a 

sound  of  your  men's  footsteps,  this  blade  will  be  in  your 
heart Are  you  married  ?    Answer  me." 

Montefiore,  lying  across  the  threshold  of  the  door,  two 
paces  from  Juana,  heard  nothing,  and  saw  nothing,  for  the 
blinding  gleam  of  the  dagger  blade. 

**  Then  he  meant  to  deceive  me;  "  the  words  came  slowly 
from  Juana.     "  He  told  me  that  he  was  free." 

"  He  told  me  that  he  was  a  married  man,"  said  Perez,  in 
the  same  stern  tones  as  before. 

"  Holy  Virgin  I  "  exclaimed  Doila  Lagounia.     La  Marana 


THE   MARANAS.  269 

Stooped  to  mutter  in  the  ear  of  the  Marquis,  "Answer  me, 
will  you,  soul  of  mud  ?  " 

"  Your  daughter "  Montefiore  began. 

"The  daughter  I  once  had  is  dead,  or  she  soon  will  be," 
said  La  Marana.  "I  have  no  daughter  now.  Do  not  use 
that  word  again.     Answer  me,  are  you  married  ?  " 

"  No,  madame,"  Montefiore  said  at  last  (he  wished  to  gain 
time)  ;  "I  mean  to  marry  your  daughter." 

"  My  noble  Montefiore  !  "  cried  Juana,  with  a  deep  breath. 

"  Then  what  made  you  fly  and  call  for  help  !  "  demanded 
Perez. 

Terrible  perspicacity ! 

Juana  said  nothing,  but  she  wrung  her  hands,  went  over  to 
her  armchair,  and  sat  down.  Even  at  that  moment  there  was 
an  uproar  in  the  street,  and  in  the  deep  silence  that  fell  upon 
the  parlor  it  was  sufficiently  easy  to  catch  the  sounds.  A 
private  soldier  of  the  Sixth,  who  had  chanced  to  pass  along 
the  street  when  Montefiore  cried  out  for  help,  had  gone  to 
call  up  Diard.  Luckily,  the  quartermaster  was  in  his  lodging, 
and  came  at  once  with  several  comrades. 

"Why  did  I  fly?"  repeated  Montefiore,  who  heard  the 
sound  of  his  friend's  voice.  "Because  I  had  told  you  the 
truth.     Diard  !  Diard  !  "  he  shrieked  aloud. 

But  at  a  word  from  Perez,  who  meant  that  all  in  his  house 
should  share  in  the  murder,  the  apprentice  made  the  door  fast, 
and  the  men  were  obliged  to  force  it  open.  La  Marana,  there- 
fore, could  stab  the  guilty  creature  at  her  feet  before  they 
made  an  entrance;  but  her  hand  shook  with  pent-up  wrath, 
and  the  blade  slipped  aside  upon  Montefiore's  epaulette.  Yet 
so  heavy  had  been  the  blow,  that  the  Italian  rolled  over 
almost  at  Juana's  feet.  The  girl  did  not  see  him,  but  La 
Marana  sprang  upon  her  prey,  and,  lest  she  should  fail  this 
time,  she  held  his  throat  in  an  iron  grasp,  and  pointed  the 
dagger  at  his  heart. 

"  I  am  free  !  "  he  gasped.     "  I  will  marry  her !     I  swear  it 


260  THE  MARANAS. 

by  God !  by  my  mother !  by  all  that  is  most  sacred  in  this 
world.  I  am  not  married !  I  will  marry  her !  Upon  my 
word  of  honor,  I  will !  "  and  he  set  his  teeth  in  the  cour- 
tesan's arm. 

''That  is  enough,  mother."  said  Juana;  "kill  him!  I 
would  not  have  such  a  coward  for  my  husband  if  he  were  ten 
times  more  beautiful." 

"Ah  !  that  is  my  daughter  !  "  cried  La  Marana. 

"What  is  going  on  here?"  asked  the  quartermaster,  look* 
ing  about  him, 

"  This,"  shouted  Montefiore;  "  they  are  murdering  me  on 
that  girl's  account ;  she  says  that  I  am  her  lover ;  she  trapped 
me,  and  now  they  want  to  force  me  to  marry  her  against  my 
will " 

"  Against  your  will  ?  "  cried  Diard,  struck  with  the  sublime 
beauty  that  indignation,  scorn,  and  hate  had  lent  to  Juana's 
face,  already  so  fair.  "You  are  very  hard  to  please  !  If  she 
must  have  a  husband,  here  am  I.     Put  up  your  dagger. ' ' 

La  Marana  grasped  the  Italian,  pulled  him  to  his  feet, 
brought  him  to  the  bedside,  and  said  in  his  ear — 

"  If  I  spare  your  life,  you  may  thank  that  last  speech  of 
yours  for  it.  But  keep  it  in  mind.  If  you  say  a  word  against 
my  daughter,  we  shall  see  each  other  again.  What  will  her 
dowry  amount  to?  "  she  asked  of  Perez. 

"  Two  hundred  thousand  piastres  down " 

"That  will  not  be  all,  monsieur,"  said  the  courtesan,  ad- 
dressing Diard.  "  Who  are  you?  You  can  go,"  she  added, 
turning  to  Montefiore. 

But  when  the  Marquis  heard  mention  of  two  hundred  thou- 
sand piastres  down,  he  came  forward,  saying,  "I  am  really 
quite  free " 

"You  are  really  quite  free  to  go,"  said  La  Marana,  and 
the  Italian  went. 

"Alas!  monsieur,"  the  girl  spoke,  addressing  Diard;  "I 
thank  you,  and  I  admire  you.     But  my  bridegroom  is  in 


THE  MARANAS.  261 

heaven ;  I  shall  be  the  bride  of  Christ.  To-morrow  I  shall 
enter  the  convent  of " 

"  Oh,  hush  !  hush  !  Juana,  my  Juana  !  "  cried  her  mother, 
holding  the  girl  tightly  in  her  arras.  Then  she  whispered, 
"You  raust  take  another  bridegroom." 

Juana  turned  pale. 

"  Who  are  you,  monsieur  ?  "  asked  the  mother  of  the  Pro- 
vencal. 

*'  I  am  nothing  as  yet  but  a  quartermaster  in  the  Sixth 
Regiment  of  the  line,"  said  he  ;  "  but  for  such  a  wife,  a  man 
would  feel  that  it  lay  in  him  to  be  a  marshal  of  France  some 
day.  My  name  is  Pierre-Francois  Diard.  My  father  was  a 
guild  magistrate,  so  I  am  not  a " 

"Eh!  you  are  an  honest  man,  are  you  not?"  cried  La 
Marana.  "  If  the  Signorina  Juana  dei  Mancini  cares  for  you, 
you  may  both  be  happy.  Juana,"  she  went  on  gravely, 
"  when  you  are  the  wife  of  a  good  and  worthy  man,  remem- 
ber that  you  will  be  a  mother.     I  have  sworn  that  you  shall 

set  a  kiss  upon  your  child's  forehead  without  a  blush 

(Here  her  tone  changed  somewhat.)  I  have  sworn  that  you 
shall  be  a  virtuous  wife.  So  in  this  life,  though  many  trou- 
bles await  you,  whatever  happens  to  you,  be  a  chaste  and 
faithful  wife  to  your  husband  ;  sacrifice  everything  to  him ; 

he  will  be  the  father  of  your  children A  father  to  your 

children  ! Stay,  between  you  and  a  lover  your  mother 

always  will  stand  ;  I  shall  be  your  mother  only  when  danger 

threatens Do  you  see  Perez's  dagger?     7>^a/ is  part  of 

your  dower,"  and  she  flung  the  weapon  down  on  the  bed. 
"  There  I  leave  it  as  a  guarantee  of  your  honor,  so  long  as  I 
have  eyes  to  see  and  hands  that  can  strike  a  blow.  Fare- 
well," she  said,  keeping  back  the  tears;  "  may  heaven  direct 
that  we  never  meet  again,"  and  at  that  her  tears  flowed 
fast. 

"  Poor  child  !  you  have  been  very  happy  in  this  little  cell, 
happier  than  you  know.     Act  in  such  a  way  that  she  may 


262  THE  MARANAS. 

never  look  back  on  it  with  regret,"  La  Marana  added,  look- 
ing at  her  future  son-in-law. 

The  story,  which  has  been  given  simply  by  way  of  intro- 
duction, is  not  by  any  means  the  subject  of  the  following 
study;  it  has  been  told  to  explain,  in  the  first  place,  how 
Montefiore  and  Diard  became  acquainted,  how  Captain  Diard 
came  to  marry  Juana  dei  Mancini,  and  to  make  known  what 
passions  filled  Mme.  Diard's  heart,  what  blood  flowed  in  her 
veins. 

By  the  time  that  the  quartermaster  had  been  through  the 
slow  and  tedious  formalities  indispensable  for  a  French  soldier 
who  is  obtaining  leave  to  marry,  he  had  fallen  passionately  in 
love  with  Juana  dei  Mancini,  and  Juana  dei  Mancini  had  had 
time  to  reflect  on  her  fate.  An  appalling  fate !  Juana,  who 
neither  loved  nor  esteemed  this  Diard,  was  none  the  less 
bound  to  him  by  a  promise,  a  rash  promise  no  doubt,  but 
there  had  been  no  help  for  it.  The  Provencal  was  neither 
handsome  nor  well  made.  His  manners  were  totally  lacking 
in  distinction,  and  savored  of  the  camp,  of  his  provincial 
bringing  up  and  imperfect  education.  How  should  the  young 
girl  love  Diard?  With  her  perfect  elegance  and  grace,  her 
unconquerable  instinct  for  luxury  and  refinement,  her  natural 
inclinations  were  towards  the  higher  spheres  of  society ;  and 
she  could  not  bring  herself  to  feel  so  much  as  esteem  for  this 
Diard  who  was  to  marry  her,  and  precisely  for  that  very  reason. 

The  repugnance  was  very  natural.  Woman  is  a  sacred  and 
gracious  being,  almost  always  misunderstood ;  the  judgments 
passed  upon  her  are  almost  always  unjust,  because  she  is 
not  understood.  If  Juana  had  loved  Diard,  she  would  have 
esteemed  him.  Love  creates  a  new  self  within  a  woman ;  the 
old  self  passes  away  with  the  dawn  of  love,  and  in  the  wed- 
ding-robe of  a  passion  that  shall  last  as  long  as  life  itself,  her 
life  is  invested  with  whiteness  and  purity.  After  this  new 
birth,  this  revival  of  modesty  and  virtue,  she  has  no  longer 


THE  MARANAS.  263 

a  past ;  it  is  utterly  forgotten  ;  she  turns  wholly  to  the  future 
that  she  may  learn  all  things  afresh.  In  this  sense,  the  words 
of  the  famous  line  that  a  modern  poet  has  put  into  the  mouth 
of  Marion  Delorme,  a  line,  moreover,  that  Corneille  might 
well  have  written,  are  steeped  in  truth — 

"And  Love  gives  back  my  maidenhood  to  me." 

Does  it  not  read  like  a  reminiscence  of  some  tragedy  of  Coi- 
neille's  ?  The  style  of  the  father  of  French  drama,  so  forceful, 
owing  so  little  to  epithet,  seems  to  be  revived  again  in  the 
words.  And  yet  the  writer,  the  poet  of  our  own  day,  has 
been  compelled  to  sacrifice  it  to  the  taste  of  a  public  only 
capable  of  appreciating  vaudevilles. 

So  Juana,  loveless,  was  still  the  same  Juana,  betrayed, 
humiliated,  brought  very  low.  How  should  this  Juana  respect 
a  man  who  could  take  her  thus?  With  the  high-minded 
purity  of  youth,  she  felt  the  force  of  a  distinction,  subtle  in 
appearance,  but  real  and  immutable,  a  binding  law  upon  the 
heart,  which  even  the  least  thoughtful  women  instinctively 
apply  to  all  their  sentiments.  Life  had  opened  out  before 
Juana,  and  the  prospect  saddened  her  inmost  soul. 

Often  she  looked  at  Perez  and  Dona  Lagounia,  her  eyes 
full  of  the  tears  she  was  too  proud  to  let  fall ;  they  under- 
stood the  bitter  thoughts  contained  in  those  tears,  but  they 
said  no  word.  Were  not  reproaches  useless  ?  And  why  should 
they  seek  to  comfort  her?  The  keener  the  sympathy,  the 
wider  the  pent-up  sorrow  would  spread. 

One  evening,  as  Juana  sat  in  her  little  cell  in  a  dull  stupor 
of  wretchedness,  she  heard  the  husband  and  wife  talking 
together.  They  thought  that  the  door  was  shut,  and  a  wail 
broke  from  her  adopted  mother. 

"  The  poor  child  will  die  of  grief!  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Perez  in  a  faltering  voice ;  "  but  what  can 
we  do  ?  Can  I  go  now  to  boast  of  my  ward's  chaste  beauty  to 
the  Comte  d'Arcos,  to  whom  I  hoped  to  marry  her?" 


264  THE  MARANAS. 

"There  is  a  difference  between  one  slip  and  vice,"  said 
the  old  woman,  indulgent  as  an  angel  could  have  been. 

"  Her  mother  gave  her  to  him,"  objected  Perez. 

"  All  in  a  minute,  and  without  consulting  her !  "  cried  Dofia 
Lagounia. 

'•  She  knew  quite  well  what  she  was  doing " 

"  Into  what  hands  our  pearl  will  pass  !  " 

**  Not  a  word  more,  or  I  will  go  and  pick  a  quarrel  with 
that Diard!" 

**  And  then  there  would  be  one  more  misfortune,"  exclaimed 
Dona  Lagounia. 

Juana,  listening  to  these  terrible  words,  knew  at  last  the 
value  of  the  happy  life  that  had  flowed  on  untroubled  until 
her  error  ended  it.  So  the  innocent  hours  in  her  peaceful 
retreat  were  to  have  been  crowned  by  a  brilliant  and  splendid 
existence]  the  delights  so  often  dreamed  of  would  have  been 
hers.  Those  dreams  had  caused  her  ruin.  She  had  fallen 
from  the  heights  of  social  greatness  to  the  feet  of  Monsieur 
Diard  !  Juana  wept  \  her  thoughts  almost  drove  her  mad. 
For  several  seconds  she  hesitated  between  a  life  of  vice  and 
religion.  Vice  offered  a  prompt  solution;  religion,  a  life 
made  up  of  suffering.  The  inward  debate  was  stormy  and 
solemn.  To-morrow  was  the  fatal  day,  the  day  fixed  for 
this  marriage.  It  was  not  too  late ;  Juana  might  be  Juana 
still.  If  she  remained  free,  she  knew  the  utmost  extent  of 
her  calamities ;  but  when  married,  she  could  not  tell  what 
might  lie  in  store  for  her.  Religion  gained  the  day.  Dona 
Lagounia  came  to  watch  and  pray  by  her  daughter's  side,  as 
she  might  have  done  by  a  dying  woman's  bed. 

**  It  is  the  will  of  God,"  she  said  to  Juana.  Nature  gives 
to  a  woman  a  power  peculiarly  her  own,  that  enables  her  to 
endure  suffering,  a  power  succeeded  in  turn  by  weakness  that 
counsels  resignation.  Juana  submitted  without  an  after- 
thought. She  determined  to  fulfill  her  mother's  vow,  to  cross 
the  desert  of  life,  and  so  reach  heaven,  knowing  that   no 


THE  MARANAS.  266 

flowers  could  spring  up  in  the  thorny  paths  that  lay  before  iier. 
She  married  Diard. 

As  for  the  quartermaster,  though  Juana  judged  him  piti- 
lessly, who  else  would  not  have  forgiven  him  ?  He  was  intox- 
icated with  love.  La  Marana,  with  the  quick  instinct  natural 
to  her,  had  felt  passion  in  the  tones  of  his  voice,  and  seen  in 
him  the  abrupt  temper,  the  impulsive  generosity  of  the  south. 
In  the  paroxysm  of  her  great  anger  she  had  seen  Diard's  good 
qualities,  and  these  only,  and  thought  that  these  were  sufficient 
guarantees  for  her  daughter's  happiness. 

And  to  all  appearance  the  early  days  of  this  marriage  were 
happy.  But  to  lay  bare  the  underlying  facts  of  the  case,  the 
miserable  secrets  that  women  bury  in  the  depths  of  their  souls, 
Juana  had  determined  that  she  would  not  overcloud  her 
husband's  joy.  All  women  who  are  victims  of  an  ill-assorted 
marriage  come  sooner  or  later  to  play  a  double  part — a  part 
terrible  to  play,  and  Juana  had  already  taken  up  her  r61e. 
Of  such  a  life,  a  man  can  only  record  the  facts  ;  and  women's 
hearts  alone  can  divine  the  inner  life  of  sentiments.  Is  it  not 
a  story  impossible  to  relate  in  all  its  truth?  Juana,  struggling 
every  hour  against  her  own  nature,  half-Spanish,  half-Italian ; 
Juana,  shedding  tears  in  secret  till  she  had  no  tears  left  to 
shed,  was  a  typical  creation,  a  living  symbol,  destined  to 
represent  the  uttermost  extent  of  woman's  misfortunes.  The 
minute  detail  required  to  depict  that  life  of  restless  pain  would 
be  without  interest  for  those  who  crave  melodramatic  sensa- 
tion. And  would  not  an  analysis,  in  which  every  wife  would 
discover  some  of  her  own  experience,  require  an  entire  volume 
if  it  were  to  be  given  in  full  ?  Such  a  book,  by  its  very  nature, 
would  be  impossible  to  write,  for  its  merits  must  consist  in 
half-tones  and  in  subtle  shades  of  color  that  critics  would 
consider  vague  and  indistinct.  And  besides,  who  that  does  not 
bear  another  heart  within  his  heart  can  touch  on  the  pathetic, 
deeply-hidden  tragedies  that  some  women  take  with  them 
to  their  graves  ;  the  heartache,  understood  of  none — not  even 


266  THE  MARANAS. 

of  those  who  cause  it ;  the  sighs  in  vain  \  the  devotion  that, 
here  on  earth  at  least,  meets  with  no  return ;  unappreciated 
magnanimities  of  silence  and  scorn  of  vengeance ;  unfailing 
generosity,  lavished  in  vain  ;  longings  for  happiness  destined 
to  be  unfulfilled ;  angelic  charity  that  blesses  in  secret ;  all 
the  beliefs  held  sacred,  all  the  inextinguishable  love?  This 
life  Juana  knew ;  fate  spared  her  in  nothing.  Hers  was  to 
be  in  all  things  the  lot  of  a  wronged  and  unhappy  wife, 
always  forgiving  her  wrongs ;  a  woman  pure  as  a  flawless 
diamond,  though  through  her  beauty,  as  flawless  and  as 
dazzling  as  the  diamond,  a  way  of  revenge  lay  open  to  her. 
Of  a  truth,  she  need  not  dread  the  dagger  in  her  dower. 

But  at  first,  under  the  influence  of  love,  of  a  passion  that  for 
a  while  at  least  can  work  a  change  in  the  most  depraved 
nature,  and  bring  to  light  all  that  is  noblest  in  a  human  soul, 
Diard  behaved  like  a  man  of  honor.  He  compelled  Monte- 
fiore  to  go  out  of  the  regiment,  and  even  out  of  that  division 
of  the  army,  that  his  wife  might  not  be  compelled  to  meet  the 
Marquis  during  the  short  time  that  she  was  to  remain  in 
Spain.  Then  the  quartermaster  asked  to  change  his  regiment, 
and  managed  to  exchange  into  the  Imperial  Guard.  He 
meant  at  all  costs  to  gain  a  title  ;  he  would  have  honors  and  a 
great  position  to  match  his  great  fortune.  With  this  thought 
in  his  mind,  he  displayed  great  courage  in  one  of  our  bloodiest 
battles  in  Germany,  and  was  so  badly  wounded  that  he  could 
no  longer  stay  in  the  service.  For  a  time  it  was  feared  that 
he  might  have  to  lose  his  leg,  and  he  was  forced  to  retire,  with 
his  pension  indeed,  but  without  the  title  of  baron  or  any 
of  the  rewards  which  he  had  hoped  for,  and  very  likely  would 
have  won,  if  his  name  had  not  been  Diard. 

These  events,  together  with  his  wound  and  his  disappointed 
hopes,  made  a  changed  man  of  the  late  quartermaster.  The 
Provencal's  energy,  wrought  for  a  time  to  a  fever  pitch,  sud- 
denly deserted  him.  At  first,  however,  his  wife  sustained  his 
courage  ;  his  efforts,  his  bravery,  and  his  ambition  had  given 


THE  MARANAS.  267 

her  some  belief  in  her  husband  ;  and  surely  it  behooved  her, 
of  all  women,  to  play  a  woman's  part,  to  be  a  tender  consoler 
for  the  troubles  of  life. 

Juana's  words  put  fresh  heart  into  the  major.  He  went  to 
live  in  Paris,  determined  to  make  a  high  position  for  himself 
in  the  administration;  the  quartermaster  of  the  Sixth  Line 
Regiment  should  be  forgotten,  and  some  day  Madame  Diard 
should  wear  a  splendid  title.  His  passion  for  his  charming 
wife  had  made  him  quick  to  guess  her  inmost  wishes.  Juana 
did  not  speak  of  them,  but  he  understood  her ;  he  was  not 
loved  as  a  man  dreams  of  being  loved — he  knew  it,  and 
longed  to  be  looked  up  to  and  loved  and  caressed.  The 
luckless  man  anticipated  happiness  with  a  wife  who  was  at  all 
times  so  submissive  and  so  gentle ;  but  her  gentleness  and  her 
submission  meant  nothing  but  that  resignation  to  her  fate 
which  had  given  Juana  to  him.  Resignation  and  religion, 
were  these  love  ?  Diard  could  often  have  wished  for  a  refusal 
instead  of  that  wifely  obedience ;  often  he  would  have  given 
his  soul  if  Juana  would  but  have  deigned  to  weep  upon  his 
breast,  and  ceased  to  conceal  her  feelings  with  the  smile  that 
she  wore  proudly  as  a  mask  upon  her  face. 

Many  a  man  in  his  youth  (for  after  a  certain  time  we  give 
up  struggling)  strives  to  triumph  over  an  evil  destiny  that 
brings  the  thunder-clouds  from  time  to  time  above  the  horizon 
of  his  life;  and  when  he  falls  into  the  depths  of  misfortune, 
those  unrequited  struggles  should  be  taken  into  account. 
Like  many  another,  Diard  tried  all  ways,  and  found  all  ways 
barred  against  him.  His  wealth  enabled  him  to  surround  his 
wife  with  all  the  luxuries  that  can  be  enjoyed  in  Paris.  She 
had  a  great  mansion  and  vast  drawing-rooms,  and  presided 
over  one  of  those  houses  frequented  by  some  few  artists  who 
are  uncritical  by  nature,  by  a  great  many  schemers,  by  the 
frivolous  folk  who  are  ready  to  go  anywhere  to  be  amused, 
and  by  certain  men  of  fashion,  attracted  by  Juana's  beauty. 
Those  who  make  themselves  conspicuous  in  Paris  must  either 


268  THE  MARANAS. 

conquer  Paris  or  fall  victims.  Diard's  character  was  not 
strong  enough,  nor  compact  enough,  nor  persistent  enough  to 
impress  itself  upon  the  society  of  a  time  when  every  one  else 
was  likewise  bent  upon  reaching  a  high  position.  Ready- 
made  social  classifications  are  not  improbably  a  great  blessing, 
even  for  the  people.  Napoleon's  "  Memoirs  "  have  informed 
us  of  the  pains  he  was  at  to  impose  social  conventions  upon  a 
court  composed  for  the  most  part  of  subjects  who  had  once 
been  his  equals.  But  Napoleon  was  a  Corsican,  Diard  was  a 
Provencal. 

If  the  two  men  had  been  mentally  equal — an  islander  is 
always  a  more  complete  human  being  than  a  man  born  and 
bred  on  the  mainland  ;  and  though  Provence  and  Corsica  lie 
between  the  same  degrees  of  latitude,  the  narrow  stretch  of 
sea  that  keeps  them  apart  is,  in  spite  of  man's  inventions,  a 
whole  ocean  that  makes  two  different  countries  of  them  both. 

From  this  false  position,  which  Diard  falsified  yet  further, 
grave  misfortunes  arose.  Perhaps  there  is  a  useful  lesson  to 
be  learned  by  tracing  the  chain  of  interdependent  facts  that 
imperceptibly  brought  about  the  catastrophe  of  the  story. 

In  the  first  place,  Parisian  scoffers  could  not  see  the  pictures 
that  adorned  the  late  quartermaster's  mansion  without  a  sig- 
nificant smile.  The  recently  purchased  masterpieces  were  all 
condemned  by  the  unspoken  slur  cast  upon  the  pictures  that 
had  been  the  spoils  of  war  in  Spain  ;  by  this  slur,  self-love 
avenged  itself  for  the  involuntary  offense  of  Diard's  wealth. 
Juana  understood  the  meaning  of  some  of  the  ambiguous  com- 
pliments in  which  the  French  excel.  Acting  upon  her  advice, 
therefore,  her  husband  sent  the  Spanish  pictures  back  to  Tara- 
gona.  But  the  world  of  Paris,  determined  to  put  the  worst 
construction  on  the  matter,  said,  '*  That  fellow  Diard  is 
shrewd;  he  has  sold  his  pictures,"  and  the  good  folk  con- 
tinued to  believe  that  the  paintings  which  still  hung  on  the 
walls  had  not  been  honestly  come  by.  Then  some  ill-natured 
women  inquired  how  a  Diard  had  come  to  marry  a  young  wife 


THE  MARANAS.  269 

SO  rich  and  so  beautiful.  Comments  followed,  endless  absurdi- 
ties were  retailed,  after  the  manner  of  Paris.  If  Juana  rose 
above  it  all,  even  above  the  scandal,  and  met  with  nothing 
but  the  respect  due  to  her  pure  and  devout  life,  that  respect 
ended  with  her,  and  was  not  accorded  to  her  husband.  Her 
shining  eyes  glanced  over  her  rooms,  and  her  woman's  clear- 
sightedness brought  her  nothing  but  pain.  And  yet — the 
disparagement  was  quite  explicable.  Military  men,  for  all 
the  virtues  with  which  romance  endows  them,  could  not  for- 
give the  quondam  quartermaster  for  his  wealth  and  his  deter- 
mination to  cut  a  figure  in  Paris,  and  for  that  very  reason. 

There  is  a  world  in  Paris  that  lies  between  the  farthest 
house  in  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  on  the  one  hand,  and 
the  last  mansion  in  the  Rue  Saint-Lazare  on  the  other ;  be- 
tween the  rising  ground  of  the  Luxembourg  and  the  heights 
of  Montmartre ;  a  world  that  dresses  and  gossips,  dresses  to 
go  out,  and  goes  out  to  gossip ;  a  world  of  petty  and  great 
airs ;  a  world  of  mean  and  poor  ambitions,  masquerading  in 
insolence  ;  a  world  of  envy  and  of  fawning  arts.  It  is  made 
up  of  gilded  rank,  and  rank  that  has  lost  its  gilding,  of  young 
and  old,  of  nobility  of  the  fourth  century  and  titles  of  yes- 
terday, of  those  who  laugh  at  the  expense  of  a  parvenu,  and 
others  who  fear  to  be  contaminated  by  him,  of  men  eager  for 
the  downfall  of  a  power,  though  none  the  less  they  will  bow 
the  knee  to  it  if  it  holds  its  own ;  and  all  these  ears  hear,  and 
all  these  tongues  repeat,  and  all  these  minds  are  informed  in 
the  course  of  an  evening  of  the  birthplace,  education,  and 
previous  history  of  each  new  aspirant  for  its  high-places.  If 
there  is  no  High  Court  of  Justice  in  this  exalted  sphere,  it 
boasts  the  most  ruthless  of  procureurs-geniraux,  an  intangible 
public  opinion  that  dooms  the  victim  and  carries  out  the  sen- 
tence, that  accuses  and  brands  the  delinquent.  Do  not  hope 
to  hide  anything  from  this  tribunal,  tell  everything  at  once 
yourself,  for  it  is  determined  to  go  to  the  bottom  of  every- 
thing, and  knows  everything.     Do  not  seek  to  understand  the 


270  THE   MARANAS. 

mysterious  operation  by  which  intelligence  is  flashed  from 
place  to  place,  so  that  a  story,  a  scandal,  or  a  piece  of  news 
is  known  everywhere  simultaneously  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye.  Do  not  ask  who  set  the  machinery  in  motion  ;  it  is  a 
social  mystery,  no  observer  can  do  more  than  watch  its  phe- 
nomena, and  its  working  is  rapid  beyond  belief.  A  single 
example  shall  suffice.  The  murder  of  the  Due  de  Berri,  at 
the  opera,  was  known  in  the  farthest  part  of  the  He  Saint- 
Louis  ten  minutes  after  the  crime  was  committed.  The  opin- 
ion of  the  Sixth  Regiment  of  the  line  concerning  Diard  per- 
meated this  world  of  Paris  on  the  very  evening  of  his  first  ball. 
So  Diard  himself  could  accomplish  nothing.  Henceforward 
his  wife,  and  his  wife  alone,  might  make  a  way  for  him. 
Strange  portent  of  a  strange  civilization  !  If  a  man  can  do 
nothing  by  himself  in  Paris,  he  has  still  some  chance  of  rising 
in  the  world  if  his  wife  is  young  and  clever.  There  are 
women,  weak  to  all  appearance,  invalids  who,  without  rising 
from  their  sofas  or  leaving  their  rooms,  make  their  influence 
felt  in  society,  and,  by  bringing  countless  secret  springs  into 
play,  gain  for  their  husbands  the  position  which  their  own 
vanity  desires.  But  Juana,  whose  girlhood  had  been  spent  in 
the  quaint  simplicity  of  the  narrow  house  in  Taragona,  knew 
nothing  of  the  corruption,  the  baseness,  or  the  opportunities 
afforded  by  life  in  Paris ;  she  looked  out  upon  it  with  girlish 
curiosity,  and  learned  from  it  no  worldly  wisdom  save  the 
lessons  taught  her  by  her  wounded  pride  and  susceptibilities. 
Juana,  moreover,  possessed  the  quick  instinct  of  a  maiden 
heart,  and  was  as  swift  to  anticipate  an  impression  as  a  sensi- 
tive plant.  The  lonely  girl  had  become  a  woman  all  at  once. 
She  saw  that  if  she  endeavored  to  compel  society  to  honor 
her  husband,  it  must  be  after  the  Spanish  fashion,  of  telling  a 
lie,  carbine  in  hand.  Did  not  her  own  constant  watchfulness 
tell  her  how  necessary  her  manifold  precautions  were  ?  A  gulf 
yawned  for  Diard  between  the  failure  to  make  himself  re- 
spected and  the  opposite  danger  of  being  respected  but  too 


THE  MARANAS.  271 

much.  Then  as  suddenly  as  before,  when  she  had  foreseen 
her  life,  there  came  a  revelation  of  the  world  to  her;  she 
beheld  on  all  sides  the  vast  extent  of  an  irreparable  mis- 
fortune. Then  came  the  tardy  recognition  of  her  husband's 
peculiar  weaknesses,  his  total  unfitness  to  play  the  parts  he 
had  assigned  to  himself,  the  incoherency  of  his  ideas,  the 
mental  incapacity  to  grasp  this  society  as  a  whole,  or  to  com- 
prehend the  subtleties  that  are  all-important  there.  Would 
not  tact  effect  more  for  a  man  in  his  position  than  force  of 
character  ?  But  the  tact  that  never  fails  is  perhaps  the  greatest 
of  all  forces. 

So  far  from  effacing  the  blot  upon  the  Diard  scutcheon,  the 
major  was  at  no  little  pains  to  make  matters  worse.  For 
instance,  as  it  had  not  occurred  to  him  that  the  Empire  was 
passing  through  a  phase  that  required  careful  study,  he  tried, 
though  he  was  only  a  major,  to  obtain  an  appointment  as  pre- 
fect. At  that  time  almost  every  one  believed  in  Napoleon ; 
his  favor  had  increased  the  importance  of  every  post.  The 
prefectures,  those  empires  on  a  small  scale,  could  only  be 
filled  by  men  with  great  names,  by  the  gentlemen  of  the 
household  of  his  majesty  the  Emperor  and  King.  The  pre- 
fects by  this  time  were  Grand  Viziers.  These  minions  of  the 
great  man  laughed  at  Major  Diard's  artless  ambitions,  and  he 
was  fain  to  solicit  a  sub-prefecture.  His  modest  pretensions 
were  ludicrously  disproportioned  to  his  vast  wealth.  After 
this  ostentatious  display  of  luxury,  how  could  the  millionaire 
leave  the  royal  splendors  of  his  house  in  Paris  for  Issoudun  or 
Savenay  ?  Would  it  not  be  a  descent  unworthy  of  his  for- 
tunes? Juana,  who  had  come  to  understand  our  laws  and 
the  manners  and  customs  of  our  administration,  too  late 
enlightened  her  husband.  Diard,  in  his  desperation,  went 
begging  to  all  the  powers  that  be;  but  Diard  met  with 
nothing  but  rebuffs,  no  way  was  open  to  him.  Then  people 
judged  him  as  the  government  had  judged  him,  and  passed 
his  own  verdict  upon  himself.     Diard  had  been  badly  wounded 


272  THE  MARANAS. 

on  the  field  of  battle,  and  Diard  had  not  been  decorated. 
The  quartermaster,  who  had  gained  wealth,  but  no  esteem, 
found  no  place  under  the  government,  and  society  quite 
logically  refused  him  the  social  position  to  which  he  had 
aspired.  In  short,  in  his  own  house  the  unfortunate  man  con- 
tinually felt  that  his  wife  was  his  superior.  He  had  come  to 
feel  it  in  spite  of  the  ''velvet  glove"  (if  the  metaphor  is  not 
too  bold)  that  disguised  from  her  husband  the  supremacy  that 
astonished  her  herself,  while  she  felt  humiliated  by  it.  It 
produced  its  effect  upon  Diard  at  last. 

A  man  who  plays  a  losing  game  like  this  is  bound  to  lose 
heart,  and  to  grow  either  a  greater  or  a  worse  man  for  it ; 
Diard's  courage,  or  his  passion,  was  sure  to  diminish,  after 
repeated  blows  dealt  to  his  self-love,  and  he  made  mistake 
upon  mistake.  From  the  first  everything  had  been  against 
him,  even  his  own  habits  and  his  own  character.  The  vices 
and  virtues  of  the  impulsive  Provencal  were  equally  patent. 
The  fibres  of  his  nature  were  like  harp-strings,  and  every  old 
friend  had  a  place  in  his  heart.  He  was  as  prompt  to  relieve 
a  comrade  in  abject  poverty  as  the  distress  of  another  of  high 
rank ;  in  short,  he  never  forgot  a  friend,  and  filled  his  gilded 
rooms  with  poor  wretches  down  on  their  luck.  Beholding 
which  things,  the  general  of  the  old  stamp  (a  species  that  will 
soon  be  extinct)  was  apt  to  greet  Diard  in  an  off-hand  fashion, 
and  address  him  with  a  patronizing,  "  Well,  my  dear  fellow  !  " 
when  they  met.  If  the  generals  of  the  Empire  concealed 
their  insolence  beneath  an  assumption  of  a  soldier's  bluff 
familiarity,  the  few  people  of  fashion  whom  Diard  met  showed 
him  the  polite  and  well-bred  contempt  against  which  a  self- 
made  man  is  nearly  always  powerless.  Diard's  behavior  and 
speech,  like  his  half-Italian  accent,  his  dress,  and  everything 
about  him,  combined  to  lower  him  in  the  eyes  of  ordinary 
minds ;  for  the  unwritten  code  of  good  manners  and  good 
taste  is  a  binding  tradition  that  only  the  greatest  power  can 
shake  off.     Such  is  the  way  of  the  world. 


THE  MARANAS.  273 

These  details  give  a  very  imperfect  idea  of  Juana's  martyr- 
dom. The  pangs  were  endured  one  by  one.  Every  social 
species  contributed  its  pin-prick,  and  hers  was  a  soul  that 
would  have  welcomed  dagger-thrusts  in  preference.  It  was 
intolerable  painful  to  watch  Diard  receiving  insults  that  he 
did  not  feel,  insults  that  Juana  must  feel  though  they  were  not 
meant  for  her.  A  final  and  dreadful  illumination  came  at  last 
for  her ;  it  cast  a  light  upon  the  future,  and  she  knew  all  the 
sorrows  that  it  held  in  store.  She  had  seen  already  that  her 
husband  was  quite  incapable  of  mounting  to  the  highest 
rung  of  the  social  ladder,  but  now  she  saw  the  inevitable 
depths  to  which  he  must  fall  when  he  should  lose  heart ;  and 
then  a  feeling  of  pity  for  Diard  came  over  her. 

The  future  that  lay  before  her  was  very  dark.  Juana  had 
never  ceased  to  feel  an  overhanging  dread  of  some  evil, 
though  whence  it  should  come  she  knew  not.  This  presenti- 
ment haunted  her  inmost  soul,  as  contagion  hovers  in  the  air ; 
but  she  was  able  to  hide  her  anguish  with  smiles.  She  had 
reached  the  point  when  she  no  longer  thought  of  herself. 

Juana  used  her  influence  to  persuade  Diard  to  renounce  his 
social  ambitions,  pointing  out  to  him  as  a  refuge  the  peaceful 
and  gracious  life  of  the  domestic  hearth.  All  their  troubles 
came  from  without ;  why  should  they  not  shut  out  the  world  ? 
In  his  own  home  Diard  would  find  peace  and  respect ;  he 
should  reign  there.  She  felt  that  she  had  courage  enough  to 
undertake  the  trying  task  of  making  him  happy,  this  man  dis- 
satisfied with  himself.  Her  energy  had  increased  with  the 
difficulties  of  her  life  ;  she  had  within  her  the  heroic  spirit 
needed  by  a  woman  in  her  position,  and  felt  the  stirrings  of 
those  religious  aspirations  which  are  cherished  by  the  guardian 
angel  appointed  to  watch  over  a  Christian  soul,  for  this  poetic 
superstitious  fancy  is  an  allegory  tha't  expresses  the  idea  of  the 
two  natures  within  us. 

Diard  renounced  his  ambitions,  closed  his  house,  and 
literally  shut  himself  up  in  it,  if  it  is  allowable  to  make  use 
18 


274  THE  MARANAS. 

of  so  familiar  a  plirase.  But  therein  lay  the  danger.  Diard 
was  one  of  those  centrifugal  souls  who  must  always  be  moving 
about.  The  luckless  soldier's  turn  of  mind  was  such  that  no 
sooner  had  he  arrived  in  a  place  than  this  restless  instinct 
forthwith  drove  him  to  depart.  Natures  of  this  kind  have  but 
one  end  in  life ;  they  must  come  and  go  unceasingly  like  the 
wheels  spoken  of  in  the  Scriptures.  It  may  have  been  that 
Diard  would  fain  have  escaped  from  himself.  He  was  not 
weary  of  Juana ;  she  had  given  him  no  cause  to  blame  her, 
but  with  possession  his  passion  for  her  had  grown  less  absorb- 
ing, and  his  character  asserted  itself  again. 

Thenceforward  his  moments  of  despondency  came  more 
frequently ;  he  gave  way  more  often  to  his  quick  southern 
temper.  The  more  virtuous  and  irreproachable  a  woman  is, 
the  more  a  man  delights  to  find  her  in  fault,  if  only  to 
demonstrate  his  titular  superiority ;  but  if  by  chance  she  com- 
pels his  respect,  he  must  needs  fabricate  faults,  and  so  between 
the  husband  and  wife  nothings  are  exaggerated  and  trifles  be- 
come mountains.  But  Juana's  meek  patience  and  gentle- 
ness, untinged  with  the  bitterness  that  women  can  infuse  into 
their  submission,  gave  no  handle  to  this  fault-finding  of  set 
purpose,  the  most  unkind  of  all.  Hers  was,  moreover,  one  of 
those  noble  natures  for  whom  it  is  impossible  to  fail  in  duty ; 
her  pure  and  holy  life  shone  in  those  eyes  with  the  martyr's 
expression  in  them  that  haunted  the  imagination.  Diard  first 
grew  weary,  then  he  chafed,  and  ended  by  finding  this  lofty 
virtue  an  intolerable  yoke.  His  wife's  discretion  left  him  no 
room  for  violent  sensations,  and  he  craved  excitement.  Thou- 
sands of  such  dramas  lie  hidden  away  in  the  souls  of  men  and 
women,  beneath  the  uninteresting  surface  of  apparently  simple 
and  commonplace  lives.  It  is  difficult  to  choose  an  example 
from  among  the  many  scenes  that  last  for  so  short  a  time,  and 
leave  such  ineffaceable  traces  in  a  life ;  scenes  that  are  almost 
always  precursors  of  the  calamity  that  is  written  in  the  destiny 
of  most  marriages.     Still  one  scene  may  be  described,  because 


THE  MARANAS.  275 

it  sharply  marks  the  first  beginnings  of  a  misunderstanding 
between  these  two,  and  may  in  some  degree  explain  the  catas- 
trophe of  the  story. 

Juana  had  two  children ;  luckily  for  her,  they  were  both 
boys.  The  oldest  was  born  seven  months  after  her  marriage  \ 
he  was  named  Juan,  and  was  like  his  mother.  Two  years 
after  they  came  to  Paris  her  second  son  was  born  ;  he  re- 
sembled Diard  and  Juana,  but  he  was  more  like  Diard,  whose 
names  he  bore.  Juana  had  given  the  most  tender  care  to 
little  Francisco.  For  the  five  years  of  his  life  his  mother  was 
absorbed  in  this  child;  he  had  more  than  his  share  of  kisses 
and  caresses  and  playthings ;  and  besides  and  beyond  all 
this,  his  mother's  penetrating  eyes  watched  him  continually. 
Juana  studied  his  character  even  in  the  cradle,  noticing  heed- 
fully  his  cries  and  movements,  that  she  might  direct  his  educa- 
tion. Juana  seemed  to  have  but  that  one  child.  The  Pro- 
vencal, seeing  that  Juan  was  almost  neglected,  began  to  take 
notice  of  the  older  boy.  He  would  not  ask  himself  whether 
the  little  one  was  the  offspring  of  the  short-lived  love  affair  to 
which  he  owed  Juana,  and  by  a  piece  of  rare  flattery  made  of 
Juan  his  Benjamin.  Of  all  the  race  inheritance  of  passions 
which  preyed  upon  her,  Mme.  Diard  gave  way  but  to  one — a 
mother's  love;  she  loved  her  children  with  the  same  vehe- 
mence and  intensity  that  La  Marana  had  shown  for  her  child 
in  the  first  part  of  this  story ;  but  to  this  love  she  added  a 
gracious  delicacy  of  feeling,  a  quick  and  keen  comprehension 
of  the  social  virtues  that  it  had  been  her  pride  to  practice,  in 
which  she  had  found  her  recompense.  The  secret  thought  of 
the  conscientious  fulfillment  of  the  duties  of  motherhood  had 
been  a  crude  element  of  poetry  that  left  its  impress  on  La 
Marana's  life;  but  Juana  could  be  a  mother  openly;  it  was 
her  hourly  consolation.  Her  own  mother  had  been  virtuous 
as  other  women  are  criminal,  by  stealth ;  she  had  stolen  her 
illicit  happiness,  she  had  not  known  all  the  sweetness  of  secure 
possession.     But  Juana,  whose  life  of  virtue  was  as  dreary  as 


276  THE  MARANAS. 

her  mother's  life  of  sin,  knew  every  hour  the  ineffable  joys  for 
which  that  mother  had  longed  in  vain.  For  her,  as  for  La 
Marana,  motherhood  summed  up  all  earthly  affection,  and 
both  the  Maranas  from  opposite  causes  had  but  this  one  com- 
fort in  their  desolation.  Perhaps  Juana's  love  was  the  stronger, 
because,  shut  out  from  all  other  love,  her  children  became  all 
in  all  to  her,  and  because  a  noble  passion  has  this  in  common 
with  vice :  it  grows  by  what  it  feeds  upon.  The  mother  and 
the  gambler  are  alike  insatiable. 

Juana  was  touched  by  the  generous  pardon  extended  over 
Juan's  head  by  Diard's  fatherly  affection,  and  thenceforward 
the  relations  between  husband  and  wife  were  changed ;  the 
interest  which  Diard's  Spanish  wife  had  taken  in  him  from  a 
sense  of  duty  only  became  a  deep  and  sincere  feeling.  Had 
he  been  less  inconsequent  in  his  life,  if  fickleness  and  spas- 
modic changes  of  feeling  on  his  part  had  not  quenched  that 
flicker  of  timid  but  real  sympathy,  Juana  must  surely  have 
loved  him;  but,  unluckily,  Diard's  character  belonged  to  the 
quick-witted  southern  type,  that  has  no  continuity  in  its  ideas; 
such  men  will  be  capable  of  heroic  actions  over  night,  and 
sink  into  nonentities  on  the  morrow ;  often  they  are  made  to 
suffer  for  their  virtues,  often  their  worst  defects  contribute  to 
their  success ;  and  for  the  rest,  they  are  great  when  their 
good  qualities  are  pressed  into  the  service  of  an  unflagging 
will.  For  two  years  Diard  had  been  a  prisoner  in  his  home, 
a  prisoner  bound  by  the  sweetest  of  all  chains.  He  lived, 
almost  against  his  will,  beneath  the  influence  of  a  wife  who 
kept  him  amused,  and  was  always  bright  and  cheerful  for  him, 
a  wife  who  devoted  all  her  powers  of  coquetry  to  beguiling 
him  into  the  ways  of  virtue ;  and  yet  all  her  ingenuity  could 
not  deceive  him,  and  he  knew  this  was  not  love. 

Just  about  that  time  a  murder  caused  a  great  sensation  in 
Paris.  A  captain  of  the  armies  of  the  Republic  had  killed 
a  woman  in  a  paroxysm  of  debauchery.  Diard  told  the  story 
to  Juana  when  he  came  home  to  dine.     The  officer,  he  said, 


THE  MARANAS.  277 

had  taken  his  own  life  to  avoid  the  ignominy  of  a  trial  and 
the  infamous  death  of  a  criminal.  At  first  Juana  could  not 
understand  the  reason  for  his  conduct,  and  her  husband  was 
obliged  to  explain  to  her  the  admirable  provision  of  the 
French  law,  which  takes  no  proceedings  against  the  dead. 

"But,  papa,  didn't  you  tell  us  the  other  day  that  the  King 
can  pardon  anybody?  "  asked  Francisco. 

"The  King  can  only  grant  life,''  said  Juan,  nettled. 

Diard  and  Juana  watched  this  little  scene  with  very  different 
feeling.  The  tears  of  happiness  in  Juana's  eyes  as  she  glanced 
at  her  oldest  boy  let  her  husband  see  with  fatal  clearness 
into  the  real  secrets  of  that  hitherto  inscrutable  heart.  Her 
older  boy  was  Juana's  own  child  j  Juana  knew  his  nature; 
she  was  sure  of  him  and  of  his  future ;  she  worshiped  him, 
and  her  great  love  was  a  secret  known  only  to  her  child  and 
to  God.  Juan,  in  his  secret  heart,  gladly  endured  his  mother's 
sharp  speeches.  What  if  she  seemed  to  frown  upon  him  in 
the  presence  of  his  father  and  brother,  when  she  showered 
passionate  kisses  upon  him  when  they  were  alone?  Francisco 
was  Diard's  child,  and  Juana's  care  meant  that  she  wished  to 
check  the  growth  of  his  father's  faults  in  him  and  to  develop 
his  good  qualities. 

Juana,  unconscious  that  she  had  spoken  too  plainly  in  that 
glance,  took  little  Francisco  on  her  knee;  and,  her  sweet 
voice  faltering  somewhat  with  the  gladness  that  Juan's  answer 
had  caused  her,  gave  the  younger  boy  the  teaching  suited  to 
his  childish  mind. 

"  His  training  requires  great  care,"  the  father  said,  speak- 
ing to  Juana. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  simply. 

"But/«a«./" 

The  tone  in  which  the  two  words  were  uttered  startled  Mme. 
Diard.     She  looked  up  at  her  husband. 

"Juan  was  born  perfection,"  he  added,  and  having  thus 
delivered  himself,  he  sat  down  and  looked  gloomily  at  his 


278  THE   MARANAS. 

wife.  She  was  silent,  so  he  went  on,  "  You  love  one  of  your 
children  better  than  the  other." 

"You  know  it  quite  well,"  she  said. 

"No!"  returned  Diard.  "Until  this  moment  I  did  not 
know  which  of  them  you  loved  the  most." 

"But  neither  of  them  has  as  yet  caused  me  any  sorrow,'* 
she  answered  quickly. 

"No,  but  which  of  them  has  given  you  more  joys?"  he 
asked  still  more  quickly. 

"I  have  not  kept  any  reckoning  of  them." 

"  Women  are  very  deceitful  I  "  cried  Diard.  "  Do  you  dare 
to  tell  me  that  Juan  is  not  the  darling  of  your  heart  ?  " 

"  And  if  he  were,"  she  said,  with  gentle  dignity,  "do  you 
mean  that  it  would  be  a  misfortune?  " 

"You  have  never  loved  me!  If  you  had  chosen,  I  might 
have  won  kingdoms  for  you  with  my  sword.  You  know  all 
that  I  have  tried  to  do,  sustained  by  one  thought — a  longing 
that  you  might  care  for  me.  Ah !  if  you  had  but  loved 
me 

"A  woman  who  loves,"  said  Juana,  "lives  in  solitude  far 
from  the  world.     Is  not  that  what  we  are  doing?  " 

"  Oh  !  I  know,  Juana,  that  you  are  never  in  the  wrong." 

The  words,  spoken  with  such  intense  bitterness,  brought 
about  a  coolness  between  them  that  lasted  the  rest  of  their  lives. 

On  the  morrow  of  that  fatal  day,  Diard  sought  out  one  of 
his  old  cronies,  and  with  him  sought  distraction  at  the  gaming- 
table. Unluckily,  he  won  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  he 
began  to  play  regularly.  Little  by  little  he  slipped  back  into 
his  old  dissipated  life.  After  a  short  time  he  no  longer  dined 
at  home.  A  few  months  were  spent  in  the  enjoyment  of  the 
first  pleasures  of  freedom ;  he  made  up  his  mind  that  he 
would  not  part  with  it,  left  the  large  apartments  of  the  house 
to  his  wife,  and  took  up  his  abode  separately  on  the  entresol. 
By  the  end  of  the  year  Diard  and  Juana  only  met  once  a 
day — at  breakfast-time. 


THE   MARANAS.  279 

In  a  few  words,  like  all  gamblers,  he  had  runs  of  good  and 
bad  luck;  but  as  he  was  reluctant  to  touch  his  capital,  he 
wished  to  have  entire  control  of  their  income,  and  his  wife 
accordingly  ceased  to  take  any  part  in  the  management  of  the 
household  economy.  Mistrust  had  succeeded  to  the  bound- 
less confidence  that  he  had  once  placed  in  her.  As  to  money 
matters,  which  had  formerly  been  arranged  by  both  husband 
and  wife,  he  adopted  the  plan  of  a  monthly  allowance  for  her 
own  expenses ;  they  settled  the  amount  of  it  together  in  the 
last  of  the  confidential  talks  that  form  one  of  the  most  attrac- 
tive charms  of  marriage. 

The  barrier  of  silence  between  two  hearts  is  a  real  divorce, 
accomplished  on  the  day  when  husband  and  wife  say  we  no 
longer.  When  that  day  came,  Juana  knew  that  she  was  no 
longer  a  wife,  but  a  mother  ;  she  was  not  unhappy,  and  did 
not  seek  to  guess  the  reason  of  the  misfortune.  It  was  a 
great  pity.  Children  consolidate,  as  it  were,  the  lives  of 
their  parents,  and  the  life  that  her  husband  led  apart  was  to 
weave  sadness  and  anguish  for  others  as  well  as  for  Juana. 
Diard  lost  no  time  in  making  use  of  his  newly-regained  lib- 
erty ;  he  played  high,  and  lost  and  won  enormous  sums.  He 
was  a  good  and  bold  player,  and  gained  a  great  reputation. 
The  respect  which  he  had  failed  to  win  in  society  in  the  days 
of  the  Empire  was  accorded  now  to  the  wealth  that  was  risked 
upon  a  green  table,  to  a  talent  for  all  and  any  of  the  games 
of  chance  of  that  period.  Ambassadors,  financiers,  men  with 
large  fortunes,  jaded  pleasure-seekers  in  quest  of  excitement 
and  extreme  sensations  admired  Diard's  play  at  their  clubs; 
they  rarely  asked  him  to  their  houses,  but  they  all  played  with 
him. 

Diard  became  the  fashion.  Once  or  twice  during  the 
winter  his  independent  spirit  led  him  to  give  a  f6te  to  return 
the  courtesies  that  he  had  received,  and  by  glimpses  Juana 
saw  something  of  society  again  ;  there  was  a  brief  return  of 
balls  and  banquets,  of  luxury  and  brilliantly-lighted  rooms ; 


280  THE  MARANAS. 

but  all  these  things  she  regarded  as  a  sort  of  duty  levied 
upon  her  happiness  and  solitude. 

The  queen  of  these  high  festivals  appeared  in  them  like 
some  creature  fallen  from  an  unknown  world.  Her  simplicity 
that  nothing  had  spoiled,  a  certain  maidenliness  of  soul  with 
which  the  changed  conditions  of  her  life  had  invested  her, 
her  beauty,  her  unaffected  modesty,  won  sincere  admiration. 
But  Juana  saw  few  women  among  her  guests ;  and  it  was  plain 
to  her  mind  that  if  her  husband  had  ordered  his  life  differ- 
ently without  taking  her  into  his  confidence,  he  had  not  risen 
in  the  esteem  of  the  world. 

Diard  was  not  always  lucky.  In  three  years  he  had  squan- 
dered three-fourths  of  his  fortune  ;  but  he  drew  from  his  pas- 
sion for  gambling  sufficient  energy  to  satisfy  it.  He  had  a 
large  circle  of  acquaintance,  and  was  hand  and  glove  with 
certain  swindlers  on  the  Stock  Exchange — gentry  who,  since 
the  Revolution,  have  established  the  principle  that  robbery 
on  a  large  scale  is  a  mere  peccadillo,  transferring  to  the  lan- 
guage of  the  counting-house  the  brazen  epithets  of  the  license 
of  the  eighteenth  century. 

Diard  became  a  speculator,  engaged  in  the  peculiar  kinds 
of  business  described  as  "shady  "  in  the  slang  of  the  Palais. 
He  managed  to  get  hold  of  poor  wretches  ignorant  of  com- 
mercial red-tape,  and  weary  of  everlasting  proceedings  in 
liquidation  ;  he  would  buy  up  their  claims  on  the  debtor's 
estate  for  a  small  sum,  arrange  the  matter  with  the  assignees 
in  the  course  of  an  evening,  and  divide  the  spoil  with  the 
latter.  When  liquifiable  debts  were  not  to  be  found,  he  looked 
out  for  floating  debts ;  he  unearthed  and  revived  claims  in 
abeyance  in  Europe  and  America  and  uncivilized  countries. 
When  at  the  Restoration  the  debts  incurred  by  the  princes, 
the  Republic,  and  the  Empire  were  all  paid,  he  took  commis- 
sions on  loans,  on  contracts  for  public  works  and  enterprises 
of  all  kinds.  In  short,  he  committed  legal  robbery,  like 
many  another  carefully  masked  delinquent  behind  the  scenes 


THE  MARANAS.  281 

in  the  theatre  of  politics.  Such  thefts,  if  perpetrated  by  the 
light  of  a  street  lamp,  would  send  the  luckless  offender  to  the 
hulks  ;  but  there  is  a  virtue  in  the  glitter  of  chandeliers  and 
gilded  ceilings  that  absolves  the  crimes  committed  beneath 
them. 

Diard  forestalled  and  regrated  sugars ;  he  sold  places ;  to 
him  belongs  the  credit  of  the  invention  of  the  "  warming- 
pan  ;  "  he  installed  lay-figures  in  lucrative  posts  that  must  be 
held  for  a  time  to  secure  still  better  positions.  Then  he  fell 
to  meditating  on  bounties ;  he  studied  the  loop-holes  of  the 
law,  and  carried  on  contraband  trades  against  which  no  pro- 
vision had  been  made.  This  traffic  in  high-places  may  be 
briefly  described  as  a  sort  of  commission  agency ;  he  received 
"so  much  per  cent."  on  the  purchase  of  fifteen  votes  which 
passed  in  a  single  night  from  the  benches  on  the  left  to  the 
benches  on  the  right  of  the  legislative  chamber.  In  these 
days  such  things  are  neither  misdemeanors  nor  felony  ;  exploit- 
ing industry,  the  art  of  government,  financial  genius — these 
are  the  names  by  which  they  are  called. 

Public  opinion  put  Diard  in  the  pillory,  where  more  than 
one  clever  man  stood  already  to  keep  him  company;  there, 
indeed,  you  will  find  the  aristocracy  of  this  kind  of  talent — 
the  upper  chamber  of  civilized  rascality. 

Diard,  therefore,  was  no  commonplace  gambler,  no  vulgar 
spendthrift  who  ends  his  career,  in  melodramas,  as  a  beggar. 
Above  a  certain  social  altitude  that  kind  of  gambler  is  not  to 
be  found.  In  these  days  a  bold  scoundrel  of  this  kind  will 
die  gloriously  in  the  harness  of  vice  in  all  the  trappings  of 
success :  he  will  blow  out  his  brains  in  a  coach  and  six,  and 
all  that  has  been  intrusted  to  him  vanishes  with  him.  Diard's 
talent  determined  him  not  to  buy  remorse  too  cheaply,  and  he 
joined  this  privileged  class.  He  learned  all  the  springs  of 
government,  made  himself  acquainted  with  all  the  secrets  and 
the  weaknesses  of  men  in  office,  and  held  his  own  in  the 
fiery  furnace  into  which  he  had  cast  himself. 


282  THE  MARANAS. 

Mine.  Diard  knew  nothing  of  the  infernal  life  that  her 
husband  led.  She  was  well  content  to  be  neglected,  and  did 
not  ponder  overmuch  the  reasons  for  his  neglect.  Her  time 
was  too  well  filled.  She  devoted  all  the  money  that  she  had 
to  the  education  of  her  children ;  a  very  clever  tutor  was 
engaged  for  them,  besides  various  masters.  She  meant  to 
make  men  of  her  boys,  to  develop  in  them  the  faculty  of 
reasoning  clearly,  but  not  at  the  expense  of  their  imaginative 
powers.  Nothing  affected  her  now  save  through  her  children, 
and  her  own  colorless  life  depressed  her  no  longer.  Juan  and 
Francisco  were  for  her  what  children  are  for  a  time  for  many 
mothers — a  sort  of  expansion  of  her  own  existence.  Diard 
had  come  to  be  a  mere  accident  in  her  life.  Since  Diard  had 
ceased  to  be  a  father  and  the  head  of  the  family,  nothing 
bound  Juana  to  her  husband  any  longer,  save  a  regard  for 
appearances  demanded  by  social  conventions ;  yet  she  brought 
up  her  children  to  respect  their  father,  shadowy  and  unreal  as 
that  fatherhood  had  become;  indeed,  her  husband's  continual 
absence  from  home  helped  her  to  maintain  the  fiction  of  his 
high  character.  If  Diard  had  lived  in  the  house,  all  Juana's 
efforts  must  have  been  in  vain.  Her  children  were  too  quick 
and  bright  not  to  judge  their  father,  and  this  process  is  a 
moral  parricide. 

At  length,  however,  Juana's  indifference  changed  to  a  feel- 
ing of  dread.  She  felt  that  sooner  or  later  her  husband's 
manner  of  life  must  affect  the  children's  future.  Day  by  day 
that  old  presentiment  of  coming  evil  gathered  definiteness  and 
strength.  On  the  rare  occasions  when  Juana  saw  her  hus- 
band, she  would  glance  at  his  hollow  cheeks,  at  his  face 
grown  haggard  with  the  vigils  he  kept,  and  wrinkled  with 
violent  emotions;  and  Diard  almost  trembled  before  the  clear, 
penetrating  eyes.  At  such  times  her  husband's  assumed  gaiety 
alarmed  her  even  more  than  the  dark  look  that  his  face  wore 
in  repose,  when  for  a  moment  he  happened  to  forget  the  part 
that  he  was  playing.     He  feared  his  wife  as  the  criminal  fears 


THE  MARANAS.  283 

the  headsman.  Juana  saw  in  him  a  disgrace  on  her  children's 
name ;  and  Diard  dreaded  her,  she  was  like  some  passionless 
Vengeance,  a  Justice  with  unchanging  brows,  with  the  arm 
that  should  one  day  strike  always  suspended  above  him. 

One  day,  about  fifteen  years  after  his  marriage,  Diard  found 
himself  without  resources.  He  owed  a  hundred  thousand 
crowns,  and  was  possessed  of  a  bare  hundred  thousand  francs. 
His  mansion  (all  that  he  possessed  beside  ready  money)  was 
mortgaged  beyond  its  value.  A  few  more  days,  and  the 
prestige  of  enormous  wealth  must  fade ;  and  when  those  days 
of  grace  had  expired,  no  helping  hand  would  be  stretched 
out,  no  purse  would  be  open  for  him.  Nothing  but  unlooked- 
for  luck  could  save  him  now  from  the  slough  into  which  he 
must  fall ;  and  he  would  but  sink  the  deeper  in  it,  men  would 
scorn  him  the  more  because  for  a  while  they  had  estimated 
him  at  more  than  his  just  value. 

Very  opportunely,  therefore,  he  learned  that  with  the 
beginning  of  the  season  diplomatists  and  foreigners  of  dis- 
tinction flocked  to  watering-places  in  the  Pyrenees,  that  play 
ran  high  at  these  resorts,  and  that  the  visitors  were  doubtless 
well  able  to  pay  their  losings.  So  he  determined  to  set  out  at 
once  for  the  Pyrenees.  He  had  no  mind  to  leave  his  wife  in 
Paris ;  some  of  his  creditors  might  enlighten  her  as  to  his 
awkward  position,  and  he  wished  to  keep  it  secret,  so  he  took 
Juana  and  the  two  children.  He  would  not  allow  the  tutor 
to  go  with  them,  and  made  some  difficulties  about  Juana's 
maid,  who,  with  a  single  manservant,  composed  their  travel- 
ing suite.  His  tone  was  curt  and  peremptory ;  his  energy 
seemed  to  have  returned  to  him.  This  hasty  journey  sent  a 
shiver  of  dread  to  Juana's  soul  ;  her  penetration  was  at  fault, 
she  could  not  imagine  the  why  and  wherefore  of  their  leaving 
Paris.  Her  husband  seemed  to  be  in  high  spirits  on  the  way ; 
and  during  the  time  spent  together  perforce  in  the  traveling 
carriage,  he  took  more  and  more  notice  of  the  children,  and 
was  more  kindly  to  the  children's  mother.     And  yet — every 


284  THE  MARANAS. 

day  brought  new  and  dark  forebodings  for  Juana,  the  fore- 
bodings of  a  mother's  heart.  These  inward  warnings,  even 
when  there  is  no  apparent  reason  for  them,  are  seldom  vain, 
and  the  veil  that  hides  the  future  grows  thin  for  a  mother's 
eyes. 

Diard  took  a  house,  not  large,  but  very  nicely  furnished, 
situated  in  one  of  the  quietest  parts  of  Bordeaux.  It  hap- 
pened to  be  a  corner  house  with  a  large  garden,  surrounded 
on  three  sides  by  streets,  and  on  the  fourth  by  the  wall  of  a 
neighboring  dwelling.  Diard  paid  the  rent  in  advance,  and 
installed  his  wife  and  family,  leaving  Juana  fifty  louis,  a  sum 
barely  sufficient  to  meet  the  housekeeping  expenses  for  three 
months.  Mme.  Diard  made  no  comment  on  this  unwonted 
niggardliness.  When  her  husband  told  her  that  he  was  about 
to  go  to  the  Baths,  and  that  she  was  to  remain  in  Bordeaux, 
she  made  up  her  mind  that  the  children  should  learn  the 
Spanish  and  Italian  languages  thoroughly,  and  that  they 
should  read  with  her  the  great  masterpieces  of  either  tongue. 

With  this  object  in  view,  Juana's  life  should  be  retired 
and  simple,  and  in  consequence  her  expenses  would  be 
few.  Her  own  woman  waited  upon  them  ;  and,  to  simplify 
the  housekeeping,  she  arranged  on  the  morrow  of  Diard's 
departure  to  have  their  meals  sent  in  from  a  restaurant. 
Everything  was  provided  for  until  her  husband's  return,  and 
she  had  no  money  left.  Her  amusements  must  consist  in  occa- 
sional walks  with  the  children.  She  was  now  a  woman  of  thirty- 
three  ;  her  beauty  had  developed  to  its  fullest  extent,  she  was 
in  the  full  splendor  of  her  maturity.  Scarcely  had  she  ap- 
peared in  Bordeaux  before  people  talked  of  nothing  but  the 
lovely  Spanish  lady.  She  received  a  first  love-letter,  and 
thenceforth  confined  her  walks  to  her  own  garden. 

At  first  Diard  had  a  run  of  luck  at  the  Baths.  He  won 
three  hundred  thousand  francs  in  two  months ;  but  it  never 
occurred  to  him  to  send  any  money  to  his  wife,  he  meant  to 
keep  as  large  a  sum  as  possible  by  him,  and  to  play  for  yet 


THE  MARANAS.  285 

higher  stakes.  Towards  the  end  of  the  last  month  the  Marquis 
di  Montefiore  came  to  the  Baths,  preceded  by  a  reputation  for 
a  fine  figure  and  great  wealth,  for  the  match  that  he  had  made 
with  an  English  lady  of  family,  and  most  of  all  for  a  passion 
for  gambling.  Diard  waited  for  his  old  comrade  in  arms,  to 
add  the  spoils  to  his  winnings.  A  gambler  with  something 
like  four  hundred  thousand  francs  at  his  back  can  command 
most  things ;  Diard  felt  confident  in  his  luck,  and  renewed 
his  acquaintance  with  Montefiore.  That  gentleman  received 
him  coldly,  but  they  played  together,  and  Diard  lost  every- 
thing. 

"Montefiore,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  the  sometime  quarter- 
master, after  a  turn  round  the  room  in  which  he  had  ruined 
himself,  **  I  owe  you  a  hundred  thousand  francs;  but  I  have 
left  my  money  at  Bordeaux,  where  my  wife  is  staying." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Diard  had  notes  for  the  amount  in  his 
pockets  at  that  moment ;  but,  with  the  self-possession  of  a  man 
accustomed  to  take  in  all  the  possibilities  of  a  situation  at  a 
glance,  he  still  hoped  something  from  the  incalculable  chances 
of  the  gaming-table.  Montefiore  had  expressed  a  desire  to 
see  something  of  Bordeaux ;  and  if  Diard  were  to  settle  at 
once  with  him,  he  would  have  nothing  left,  and  could 
not  have  his  "  revenge."  A  "  revenge  "  will  sometimes  more 
than  make  good  all  previous  losses.  All  these  burning  hopes 
depended  on  the  answer  that  the  Marquis  might  give. 

"Let  it  stand,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Montefiore;  "we  will 
go  to  Bordeaux  together.  I  am  rich  enough  now  in  all  con- 
science; why  should  I  take  an  old  comrade's  money?  " 

Three  days  later,  Diard  and  the  Italian  were  at  Bordeaux. 
Montefiore  offered  the  Provencal  his  revenge.  In  the  course 
of  an  evening,  which  Diard  began  by  paying  down  the  hun- 
dred thousand  francs,  he  lost  two  hundred  thousand  more 
upon  parole.  He  was  as  light-hearted  over  his  losses  as  if  he 
could  swim  in  gold.  It  was  eleven  o'clock,  and  a  glorious 
night,  surely  Montefiore  must  wish  to  breathe  the  fresh  air 


286  THE  MARANAS. 

under  the  open  sky  and  to  take  a  walk  to  cool  down  a  little 
after  the  excitement  of  play  ;  Diard  suggested  that  the  Italian 
should  accompany  him  to  his  house  and  take  a  cup  of  tea 
there  when  the  money  was  paid  over. 

"But  Mme.  Diard  !  "  queried  Montefiore. 

"  Pshaw  !  "  answered  the  Provencal. 

They  went  downstairs  together ;  but,  before  leaving  the 
house,  Diard  went  into  the  dining-room,  asked  for  a  glass  of 
water,  and  walked  about  the  room  as  he  waited  for  it.  In 
this  way  he  managed  to  secrete  a  tiny  steel  knife  with  a  handle 
of  mother-of-pearl,  such  as  is  used  at  dessert  for  fruit  j  the 
thing  had  not  yet  been  put  away  in  its  place. 

**  Where  do  you  live?"  asked  Montefiore,  as  they  crossed 
the  court;  "I  must  leave  word,  so  as  to  have  the  carriage 
sent  round  for  me." 

Diard  gave  minute  directions. 

"  Of  course,  I  am  perfectly  safe  as  long  as  I  am  with  you, 
you  see,"  said  Montefiore  in  a  low  voice,  as  he  took  Diard's 
arm;  "but  if  I  came  back  by  myself,  and  some  scamp  were 
to  follow  me,  I  should  be  worth  killing." 

"Then  have  you  money  about  you ?  " 

"Oh  I  next  to  nothing,"  said  the  cautious  Italian,  "only 
my  winnings.  But  they  would  make  a  pretty  fortune  for  a 
penniless  rascal ;  he  might  take  brevet  rank  as  an  honest  man 
afterwards  for  the  rest  of  his  life,  that  I  know." 

Diard  took  the  Italian  into  a  deserted  street.  He  had 
noticed  the  gateway  of  a  single  house  in  it  at  the  end  of  a 
sort  of  avenue  of  trees,  and  that  there  were  high  dark  walls 
on  either  side.  Just  as  they  reached  the  end  of  this  road  he 
had  the  audacity  to  ask  his  friend,  in  soldierly  fashion,  to 
walk  on.  Montefiore  understood  Diard's  meaning,  and  turned 
to  go  with  him.  Scarcely  had  they  set  foot  in  the  shadow, 
when  Diard  sprang  like  a  tiger  upon  the  Marquis,  tripped 
him  up,  boldly  set  his  foot  on  his  victim's  throat,  and  plunged 
the  knife  again  and  again  into  his  heart,  till  the  blade  snapped 


THE  MARANAS.  287 

off  short  in  his  body.  Then  he  searched  Montefiore,  took  his 
money,  his  pocket-book,  and  everything  that  the  Marquis  had. 

But  though  Diard  had  set  about  his  work  in  a  frenzy  that 
left  him  perfectly  clear-headed,  and  completed  it  with  the 
deftness  of  a  pickpocket  \  though  he  had  taken  his  victim 
adroitly  by  surprise,  Montefiore  had  had  time  to  shriek 
"Murder!"  once  or  twice,  a  shrill,  far-reaching  cry  that 
must  have  sent  a  thrill  of  horror  through  many  sleepers,  and 
his  dying  groans  were  fearful  to  hear. 

Diard  did  not  know  that  even  as  they  turned  into  the 
avenue  a  crowd  of  people  returning  home  from  the  theatre 
had  reached  the  upper  end  of  the  street.  They  had  heard 
Montefiore's  dying  cries,  though  the  Provencal  had  tried  to 
stifle  the  sounds,  never  relaxing  the  pressure  of  his  foot  upon 
the  murdered  man's  throat  until  at  last  they  ceased. 

The  high  walls  still  echoed  with  dying  groans  which  guided 
the  crowd  to  the  spot  whence  they  came.  The  sound  of 
many  feet  filled  the  avenue  and  rang  through  Diard's  brain. 
The  murderer  did  not  lose  his  head  ;  he  came  out  from  under 
the  trees,  and  walked  very  quietly  along  the  street,  as  if  he 
had  been  drawn  thither  by  curiosity  and  saw  that  he  had 
come  too  late  to  be  of  any  use.  He  even  turned  to  make 
sure  of  the  distance  that  separated  him  from  the  new-comers, 
and  saw  them  all  rush  into  the  avenue,  save  one  man,  who  not 
unnaturally  stood  still  to  watch  Diard's  movements. 

"  There  he  lies  !  There  he  lies  !  "  shouted  voices  from  the 
avenue.  They  had  caught  sight  of  Montefiore's  dead  body  in 
front  of  the  great  house.  The  gateway  was  shut  fast,  and 
after  diligent  search  they  could  not  find  the  murderer  in  the 
alley. 

As  soon  as  he  heard  the  shout,  Diard  knew  that  he  had  got 
the  start ;  he  seemed  to  have  the  strength  of  a  lion  in  him 
and  the  fleetness  of  a  stag;  he  began  to  run,  nay,  he  flew. 
He  saw,  or  fancied  that  he  saw,  a  second  crowd  at  the  other 
end  of  the  road,  and  darted  down  a  side  street.     But  even  as 


288  •  THE  MARANAS. 

he  fled,  windows  were  opened,  and  rows  of  heads  were  thrust 
out,  lights  and  shouting  issued  from  ever  door ;  to  Diard, 
running  for  dear  life,  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  rushing  through 
a  tumult  of  cries  and  swaying  lights.  As  he  fled  straight 
along  the  road  before  him,  his  legs  stood  him  in  such  good 
stead  that  he  left  the  crowd  behind ;  but  he  could  not  keep 
out  of  sight  of  the  windows,  nor  avoid  the  watchful  eyes  that 
traversed  the  length  and  breadth  of  a  street  faster  than  he 
could  fly. 

In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  soldiers,  gendarmes,  and  house- 
holders were  all  astir.  Some  in  their  zeal  had  gone  to  wake 
up  commissaries  of  police,  others  stood  by  the  dead  body. 
The  alarm  spread  out  into  the  suburbs  in  the  direction  of  the 
fugitive  (whom  it  followed  like  a  conflagration  from  street  to 
street)  and  into  the  heart  of  the  town,  where  it  reached  the 
authorities.  Diard  heard  as  in  a  dream  the  hurrying  feet,  the 
yells  of  a  whole  horror-stricken  city.  But  his  ideas  were  still 
clear ;  he  still  preserved  his  presence  of  mind,  and  he  rubbed 
his  hands  against  the  walls  as  he  ran. 

At  last  he  reached  the  garden  wall  of  his  own  house.  He 
thought  that  he  had  thrown  his  pursuers  off"  the  scent.  The 
place  was  perfectly  silent  save  for  the  far-off"  murmur  of  the 
city,  scarcely  louder  there  than  the  sound  of  the  sea.  He 
dipped  his  hands  into  a  runnel  of  clear  water  and  drank. 
Then,  looking  about  him,  he  saw  a  heap  of  loose  stones  by 
the  roadside,  and  hastened  to  bury  his  spoils  beneath  it,  act- 
ing on  some  dim  notion  such  as  crosses  a  criminal's  mind 
when  he  has  not  yet  found  a  consistent  tale  to  account  for 
his  actions,  and  hopes  to  establish  his  innocence  by  lack  of 
proofs  against  him.  When  this  was  accomplislved,  he  tried  to 
look  serene  and  calm,  forced  a  smile,  and  knocked  gently  at 
his  own  door,  hoping  that  no  one  had  seen  him.  He  looked 
up  at  the  house  front  and  saw  a  light  in  his  wife's  windows. 
And  then  in  his  agitation  of  spirit  visions  of  Juana's  peace- 
ful life  rose  before  him  ;  he  saw  her  sitting  there  in  the  candle- 


THE  MARANAS.  289 

light  with  her  children  on  either  side  of  her,  and  the  vision 
smote  his  brain  like  a  blow  from  a  hammer.  The  waiting- 
woman  opened  the  door,  Diard  entered,  and  hastily  shut  it  to 
again.  He  dared  to  breathe  more  freely,  but  he  remembered 
that  he  was  covered  with  perspiration,  and  sent  the  maid  up 
to  Juana,  while  he  stayed  below  in  the  darkness.  He  wiped 
his  face  with  a  handkerchief  and  set  his  clothes  in  order,  as  a 
coxcomb  smooths  his  coat  before  calling  upon  a  pretty  woman ; 
then  for  a  moment  he  stood  in  the  moonlight  examining  his 
hands;  he  passed  them  over  his  face,  and  with  unspeakable 
joy  found  that  there  was  no  trace  of  blood  upon  him,  doubt- 
less his  victim's  wounds  had  bled  internally. 

He  went  up  to  Juana'  sroom,  and  his  manner  was  as  quiet 
and  composed  as  if  he  had  come  home  after  the  theatre,  to 
sleep.  As  he  climbed  the  stairs,  he  could  think  over  his 
position,  and  summed  it  up  in  a  phrase — he  must  leave  the 
house  and  reach  the  harbor.  These  ideas  did  not  cross  his 
brain  in  words;  he  saw  them  written  in  letters  of  fire  upon 
the  darkness.  Once  down  at  the  harbor,  he  could  lie  in 
hiding  during  the  day,  and  return  at  night  for  the  treasure ; 
then  he  would  creep  with  it  like  a  rat  into  the  hold  of  some 
vessel,  and  leave  the  port,  no  one  suspecting  that  he  was  on 
board.  For  all  these  things  money  was  wanted  in  the  first 
place.  And  he  had  nothing.  The  waiting-woman  came  with 
a  light. 

"  Felicie,"  he  said,  **  do  you  not  hear  that  noise?  people 
are  shouting  in  the  street.  Go  and  find  out  what  it  is  and  let 
me  know " 

His  wife  in  her  white  dressing-gown  was  sitting  at  a  table, 
reading  Cervantes  in  Spanish  with  Francisco  and  Juan  ;  the 
two  children's  eyes  followed  the  text  while  their  mother  read 
aloud.  All  three  of  them  stopped  and  looked  up  at  Diard, 
who  stood  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  surprised  perhaps  by 
the  surroundings,  the  peaceful  scene,  the  fair  faces  of  the 
woman  and  the  children  in  the  softly-lit  room.  It  was  like  a 
19 


290  THE  MARANAS. 

living  picture  of  a  Madonna  with  her  son  and  the  little  Saint 
John  on  either  side. 

"  Juana,  I  have  something  to  say  to  you." 

**  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked.  In  her  husband's  wan  and  sallow 
face  she  read  the  news  of  this  calamity  that  she  had  expected 
daily  ;  it  had  come  at  last. 

**  Nothing,  but  I  should  like  to  speak  to  you — to  you,  quite 
alone,"  and  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  two  little  boys. 

"  Go  to  your  room,  my  darlings,  and  go  to  bed,"  said  Juana. 
*' Say  your  prayers  without  me." 

The  two  boys  went  away  m  silence,  with  the  un inquisitive 
obedience  of  children  who  have  been  well  brought  up. 

"Dear  Juana,"  Diard  began  in  coaxing  tones,  "I  left  you 
very  little  money,  and  I  am  very  sorry  for  it  now.  Listen, 
since  I  relieved  you  of  the  cares  of  your  household  by  giving 
you  an  allowance,  perhaps  you  may  have  saved  a  little  money, 
as  all  women  do?" 

"No,"  answered  Juana,  "I  have  nothing.  You  did  not 
allow  anything  for  the  expenses  of  the  children's  education. 
I  am  not  reproaching  you  at  all,  dear ;  I  only  remind  you 
that  you  forgot  about  it,  to  explain  how  it  is  that  I  have  no 
money.  All  that  you  gave  me  I  spent  on  lessons  and  mas- 
ters  " 

**  That  will  do  !  "  Diard  broke  in.  "Sacri  ionnerre  !  time 
is  precious.     Have  you  no  jewels?" 

"You  know  quite  well  that  I  never  wear  them." 

"  Then  there  is  not  a  sou  in  the  house  !  "  cried  Diard,  like 
a  man  bereft  of  his  senses. 

"Why  do  you  cry  out?"  she  asked. 

"  Juana,"  he  began,  "  I  have  just  killed  a  man  !  " 

Juana  rushed  to  the  children's  room,  and  returned,  shutting 
all  the  doors  after  her. 

"  Your  sons  must  not  hear  a  word  of  this,"  she  said ;  "  but 
whom  can  you  have  fought  with?" 

"Montefiore,"  he  answered. 


THE  MARANAS.  291 

**  Ah  !  "  she  said,  and  a  sigh  broke  from  her;  "he  is  the 
one  man  whom  you  had  a  right  to  kill " 

"  There  were  plenty  of  reasons  why  he  should  die  by  my 
hand.  But  let  us  lose  no  time.  Money,  I  want  money,  in 
God's  name  !  They  may  be  on  my  track.  We  did  not  fight, 
Juana,  I — I  killed  him." 

"  Killed  him  !  "  she  cried.     "  But  how ?  " 

"  Why,  how  does  one  kill  a  man  ?  He  had  robbed  me 
of  all  I  had  at  play;  and  I  have  taken  it  back  again.  Juana, 
since  we  have  no  money,  you  might  go  now,  while  everything 
is  quiet,  and  look  for  my  money  under  the  heap  of  stones  at 
the  end  of  the  road  ;  you  know  the  place," 

*'  Then,"  said  Juana,  "  you  have  robbed  him." 

"What  business  is  it  of  yours?  Fly  I  must,  mustn't  I? 
Have  you  any  money? They  are  after  me !  " 

"Who?" 

"The  authorities.' 

Juana  left  the  room,  and  came  back  suddenly. 

"Here,"  she  cried,  holding  out  a  trinket,  but  standing  at 
a  distance  from  him  ;  this  is  Dona  Lagounia's  cross.  There 
are  four  rubies  in  it,  and  the  stones  are  very  valuable ;  so  I 
have  been  told.     Be  quick,  fly,  fly why  don't  you  go  ?  " 

"Felicie  has  not  come  back,"  he  said  in  dull  amazement. 
"  Can  they  have  arrested  her?  " 

Juana  dropped  the  cross  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  and 
sprang  towards  the  windows  that  looked  out  upon  the  street. 
Outside  in  the  moonlight  she  saw  a  row  of  soldiers  taking  their 
places  in  absolute  silence  along  the  wall.  She  came  back 
again ;  to  all  appearance  she  was  perfectly  calm. 

"  You  have  not  a  minute  to  lose,"  she  said  to  her  husband ; 
"  you  must  escape  through  the  garden.  Here  is  the  key  of 
the  little  door." 

A  last  counsel  of  prudence  led  her,  however,  to  give  a 
glance  over  the  garden.  In  the  shadows  under  the  trees  she 
saw  the  silvery  gleam  of  the  metal  rims  of  the  gendarmes' 


292  THE  MARANAS. 

caps.  She  even  heard  a  vague  murmur  of  a  not  far-distant 
crowd ;  sentinels  were  keeping  back  the  people  gathered 
together  by  curiosity  at  the  further  ends  of  the  streets  by 
which  the  house  was  approached. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Diard  had  been  seen  from  the  windows 
of  the  houses ;  the  maidservant  had  been  frightened,  and 
afterwards  arrested;  and,  acting  on  this  information,  the  mil- 
itary and  the  crowd  had  soon  blocked  the  ends  of  the  streets 
that  lay  on  two  sides  of  the  house.  A  dozen  gendarmes, 
coming  off  duty  at  the  theatres,  were  posted  outside ;  others 
had  climbed  the  wall,  and  were  searching  the  garden,  a  pro- 
ceeding authorized  by  the  serious  nature  of  the  crime. 

**  Monsieur,"  said  Juana,  "  it  is  too  late.  The  whole  town 
is  aroused." 

Diard  rushed  from  window  to  window,  with  the  wild  reck- 
lessness of  a  bird  that  dashes  frantically  against  every  pane. 
Juana  stood  absorbed  in  her  thoughts. 

**  Where  can  I  hide  ?  "  he  asked. 

He  looked  at  the  chimney,  and  Juana  stared  at  the  two 
empty  chairs.  To  her  it  seemed  only  a  moment  since  her 
children  were  sitting  there.  Just  at  that  moment  the  gate 
opened,  and  the  courtyard  echoed  with  the  sound  of  many 
footsteps. 

**  Juana,  dear  Juana,  for  pity's  sake,  tell  me  what  to  do," 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  she  said  ;  "I  will  save  you." 

"  Ah  !  you  will  be  my  good  angel !  " 

Again  Juana  returned  with  one  of  Diard's  pistols ;  she  held 
it  out  to  him,  and  turned  her  head  away.  Diard  did  not  take 
it.  Juana  heard  sounds  from  the  courtyard  ;  they  had  brought 
in  the  dead  body  of  the  Marquis  to  confront  the  murderer. 
She  came  away  from  the  window  and  looked  at  Diard  ;  he  was 
white  and  haggard  ;  his  strength  failed  him ;  he  made  as  if  he 
would  sink  into  a  chair. 

"  For  your  children's  sake,"  she  said,  thrusting  the  weapon 
into  his  hands. 


IS     THAT     M.     DIARD. 


THE  MARANAS.  293 

"  But,  my  dear  Juana,  my  little  Juana,  do  you  really  be- 
lieve that ?    Juana,  is  there  such  need  of  haste  ? I 

would  like  to  kiss  you  before " 

The  gendarmes  were  on  the  stairs.  Then  Juana  took  up 
the  pistol,  held  it  at  Diard's  head  ;  with  a  firm  grasp  on  his 
throat  she  held  him  tightly  in  spite  of  his  cries,  fired,  and  let 
the  weapon  fall  to  the  ground. 

The  door  was  suddenly  flung  open  at  that  moment.     The 
public  prosecutor,  followed  by  a  magistrate  and  his  clerk,  a 
doctor,  and  the   gendarmes,   all  the   instruments   of  man's 
justice,  appeared  upon  the  scene. 
"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Is  that   M.   Diard?"  answered   the   public   prosecutor, 
pointing  to  the  body  lying  bent  double  upon  the  floor. 
*' Yes,  monsieur." 

"  Your  dress  is  covered  with  blood,  madame " 

**  Do  you  not  understand  how  it  is?  "  asked  Juana. 
She  went  over  to  the  little  table  and  sat  down  there,  and 
took  up  the  volume  of  Cervantes ;  her  face  was  colorless  ;  she 
strove  to  control  her  inward  nervous  agitation. 

**  Leave  the  room,"  said  the  public  prosecutor  to  the  gen- 
darmes. He  made  a  sign  to  the  magistrate  and  the  doctor, 
and  they  remained. 

*'  Madame,  under  the  circumstances,  we  can  only  con- 
gratulate you  on  your  husband's  death.  If  he  was  carried 
away  by  passion,  at  any  rate  he  has  died  like  a  soldier,  and  it 
is  vain  for  justice  to  pursue  him  now.  Yet  little  as  we  may 
desire  to  intrude  upon  you  at  such  a  time,  the  law  obliges  us 
to  inquire  into  a  death  by  violence.  Permit  us  to  do  our 
duty." 

"May  I  change  my  dress?"  she  asked,  laying  down  the 
volume. 

**  Yes,  madame,  but  you  must  bring  it  here.     The  doctor 

will  doubtless  require  it " 

"  It  would  be  too  painful  to  Mme.  Diard  to  be  present 


294  THE  MARANAS. 

while  I  go  through  my  task,"  said  the  doctor,  understanding 
the  public  prosecutor's  suspicions.  "Will  you  permit  her, 
gentlemen,  to  remain  in  the  adjoining  room?" 

The  two  functionaries  approved  the  kindly  doctor's  sug- 
gestion, and  Felicie  went  to  her  mistress.  Then  the  magis- 
trate and  the  public  prosecutor  spoke  together  for  a  while  in 
a  low  voice.  It  is  the  unhappy  lot  of  administrators  of  justice 
to  be  in  duty  bound  to  suspect  everybody  and  everything. 
By  dint  of  imagining  evil  motives,  and  every  possible  com- 
bination that  they  may  bring  about,  so  as  to  discover  the 
truth  that  lurks  beneath  the  most  inconsistent  actions,  it  is 
impossible  but  that  their  dreadful  office  should  in  course  of 
time  dry  up  the  source  of  the  generous  impulses  to  which 
they  may  never  yield.  If  the  sensibilities  of  the  surgeon  who 
explores  the  mysteries  of  the  body  are  blunted  by  degrees, 
what  becomes  of  the  inner  sensibility  of  the  judge  who  is 
compelled  to  probe  the  intricate  recesses  of  the  human  con- 
science ?  Magistrates  are  the  first  victims  of  their  profession  ; 
their  progress  is  one  perpetual  mourning  for  their  lost  illu- 
sions, and  the  crimes  that  hang  so  heavily  about  the  necks 
of  criminals  weigh  no  less  upon  their  judges.  An  old  man 
seated  in  the  tribunal  of  justice  is  sublime  ;  but  do  we  not 
shudder  to  see  a  young  face  there  ?  In  this  case  the  magis- 
trate was  a  young  man,  and  it  was  his  duty  to  say  to  the 
public  prosecutor,  **  Was  the  woman  her  husband's  accomplice, 
do  you  think?  Must  we  take  proceedings?  Ought  she,  in 
your  opinion,  to  be  examined  ?  " 

By  way  of  reply,  the  public  prosecutor  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders ;  apparently  it  was  a  matter  of  indifference. 

**  Montefiore  and  Diard,"  he  remarked,  "  were  a  pair  of 
notorious  scamps.  The  servant-girl  knew  nothing  about  the 
crime.     We  need  not  go  any  further." 

The  doctor  was  making  his  examination  of  Diard's  body, 
and  dictating  his  report  to  the  clerk.  Suddenly  he  rushed 
into  Juana's  room. 


THE  MARANAS.  295 

"Madame " 

Juana,  who  had  changed  her  blood-stained  dress,  confronted 
the  doctor. 

"  You  shot  your  husband,  did  you  not  ?  "  he  asked,  bend- 
ing to  say  the  words  in  her  ear. 

*'  Yes,  monsieur,"  the  Spaniard  answered. 

^^  And  from  circumstantial  evidence^'  (the  doctor  went  on 
dictating)  ^'  we  conclude  that  the  said  Diard  has  taken  his  life 
by  his  own  act.  Have  you  finished?"  he  asked  the  clerk 
after  a  pause. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  scribe. 

The  doctor  put  his  signature  to  the  document.  Juana 
glanced  at  him,  and  could  scarcely  keep  back  the  tears  that, 
for  a  moment,  filled  her  eyes. 

"  Gentlemen,"  she  said,  and  she  turned  to  the  public  prose- 
cutor, **  I  am  a  stranger,  a  Spaniard.  I  do  not  know  the  law. 
I  know  no  one  in  Bordeaux.  I  entreat  you  to  do  me  this  kind- 
ness, will  you  procure  me  a  passport  for  Spain  ?  " 

"  One  moment  !  "  exclaimed  the  magistrate.  "  Madame, 
what  has  become  of  the  sum  of  money  that  was  stolen  from 
the  Marquis  di  Montefiore  ?  " 

"  M.  Diard  said  something  about  a  heap  of  stones  beneath 
which  he  had  hidden  it,"  she  answered. 

"Where?" 

"  In  the  street." 

The  two  functionaries  exchanged  glances.  Juana's  invol- 
untary start  was  sublime.     She  appealed  to  the  doctor. 

"  Can  they  suspect  me  ?  "  she  said  in  his  ear ;  "  suspect  me 
of  some  villainy?  The  heap  of  stones  is  sure  to  be  some- 
where at  the  end  of  the  garden.  Go  yourself,  I  beg  of  you, 
and  look  for  it  and  find  the  money." 

The  doctor  went,  accompanied  by  the  magistrate,  and  found 
Montefiore's  pocket-book. 

Two  days  later  Juana  sold  her  golden  cross  to  meet  the 
expenses  of  the  journey.     As  she  went  with  her  two  children 


296  THE  MARANAS. 

to  the  diligence  in  which  they  were  about  to  travel  to  the 
Spanish  frontier,  some  one  called  her  name  in  the  street.  It 
was  her  dying  mother,  who  was  being  taken  to  the  hospital ; 
she  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  daughter  through  a  slit  in  the 
curtains  of  the  stretcher  on  which  she  lay.  Juana  bade  them  ^ 
carry  the  stretcher  into  a  gateway,  and  there  for  the  last  time 
the  mother  and  daughter  met.  Low  as  their  voices  were 
while  they  spoke  together,  Juan  overheard  these  words  of  fare- 
well— 

"Mother,  die  in  peace  ;  I  have  suffered  for  you  all." 

Paris,  November^  1832. 


THE  EXECUTIONER. 

{El  Verdugo.) 
To  Martinez  de  la  Rosa. 

Midnight  had  just  sounded  from  the  belfry  tower  of  the 
little  town  of  Menda.  A  young  French  officer,  leaning  over 
the  parapet  of  the  long  terrace  at  the  further  end  of  the  castle 
gardens,  seemed  to  be  unusually  absorbed  in  deep  thought 
for  one  who  led  the  reckless  life  of  a  soldier ;  but  it  must  be 
admitted  that  never  was  the  hour,  the  scene,  and  the  night 
more  favorable  to  meditation. 

The  blue  dome  of  the  cloudless  sky  of  Spain  was  overhead  ; 
he  was  looking  out  over  the  coy  w^indings  of  a  lovely  valley 
lit  by  the  uncertain  starlight  and  the  soft  radiance  of  the 
moon.  The  officer,  leaning  against  an  orange  tree  in  blossom, 
could  also  see,  a  hundred  feet  below  him,  the  town  of  Menda, 
which  seemed  to  nestle  for  shelter  from  the  north  wind  at 
the  foot  of  the  crags  on  which  the  castle  itself  was  built.  He 
turned  his  head  and  caught  sight  of  the  sea ;  the  moonlit 
waves  made  a  broad  frame  of  silver  for  the  landscape. 

There  were  lights  in  the  castle  windows.  The  mirth  and 
movement  of  a  ball,  the  sounds  of  the  violins,  the  laughter  of 
the  officers  and  their  partners  in  the  dance  were  borne  to- 
wards him  and  blended  with  the  far-off  murmur  of  the  waves. 
The  cool  night  had  a  certain  bracing  effect  upon  his  frame, 
wearied  as  he  had  been  by  the  heat  of  the  day.  He  seemed 
to  bathe  in  the  air,  made  fragrant  by  the  strong,  sweet  scent 
of  flowers  and  of  aromatic  trees  in  the  gardens. 

The  castle  of  Menda  belonged  to  a  Spanish  grandee,  who 
was  living  in  it  at  that  time  with  his  family.     All  through  the 

(297) 


298  THE  EXECUTIONER. 

evening  the  oldest  daughter  of  the  house  had  watched  the 
officer  with  such  a  wistful  interest  that  the  Spanish  lady's 
compassionate  eyes  might  well  have  set  the  young  Frenchman 
dreaming.  Clara  was  beautiful ;  and  although  she  had  three 
brothers  and  a  sister,  the  broad  lands  of  the  Marques  de 
Legan^s  appeared  to  be  sufficient  warrant  for  Victor  Mar- 
chand's  belief  that  the  young  lady  would  have  a  splendid 
dowry.  But  how  could  he  dare  to  imagine  that  the  most 
fanatical  believer  in  blue  blood  in  all  Spain  would  give  his 
daughter  to  the  son  of  a  grocer  in  Paris?  Moreover,  the 
French  were  hated.  It  was  because  the  Marquis  had  been 
suspected  of  an  attempt  to  raise  the  country  in  favor  of 
Ferdinand  VII.  that  General  G ,  who  governed  the  pro- 
vince, had  stationed  Victor  Marchand's  battalion  in  the  little 
town  of  Menda  to  overawe  the  neighboring  districts  which 
received  the  Marques  de  Legaiies'  word  as  law.  A  recent 
despatch  from  Marshal  Ney  had  given  ground  for  fear  that  the 
English  might  ere  long  effect  a  landing  on  the  coast,  and  had 
indicated  the  Marquis  as  being  in  correspondence  with  the 
Cabinet  in  London. 

In  spite,  therefore,  of  the  welcome  with  which  the  Spaniards 
had  received  Victor  Marchand  and  his  soldiers,  that  officer 
was  alwajrs  on  his  guard.  As  he  went  towards  the  terrace, 
where  he  had  just  surveyed  the  town  and  the  districts  confided 
to  his  charge,  he  had  been  asking  himself  what  construction 
he  ought  to  put  upon  the  friendliness  which  the  Marquis  had 
invariably  shown  him,  and  how  to  reconcile  the  apparent 
tranquillity  of  the  country  with  his  general's  uneasiness.  But 
a  moment  later  these  thoughts  were  driven  from  his  mind  by 
the  instinct  of  caution  and  very  legitimate  curiosity.  It  had 
just  struck  him  that  there  was  a  very  fair  number  of  lights  in 
the  town  below.  Although  it  was  the  Feast  of  Saint  James, 
he  himself  had  issued  orders  that  very  morning  that  all  lights 
must  be  put  out  in  the  town  at  the  hour  prescribed  by  military 
regulations.     The  castle  alone  had   been   excepted   in  this 


THE  EXECUTIONER.  289 

order.  Plainly  here  and  there  he  saw  the  gleam  of  bayonets, 
where  his  own  men  were  at  their  accustomed  posts  ;  but  in 
the  town  there  was  a  solemn  silence,  and  not  a  sign  that  the 
Spaniards  had  given  themselves  up  to  the  intoxication  of  a 
festival.  He  tried  vainly  for  a  while  to  explain  this  breach  of 
the  regulations  on  the  part  of  the  inhabitants ;  the  mystery 
seemed  but  so  much  the  more  obscure  because  he  had  left  in- 
structions with  some  of  his  officers  to  do  police  duty  that 
night,  and  make  the  rounds  of  the  town. 

With  the  impetuosity  of  youth,  he  was  about  to  spring 
through  a  gap  in  the  wall  preparatory  to  a  rapid  scramble 
down  the  rocks,  thinking  to  reach  a  small  guard-house  at  the 
nearest  entrance  into  the  town  more  quickly  than  by  the 
beaten  track,  when  a  faint  sound  stopped  him.  He  fancied 
that  he  could  hear  the  light  footstep  of  a  woman  along  the 
graveled  garden  walk.  He  turned  his  head  and  saw  no  one  ; 
for  one  moment  his  eyes  were  dazzled  by  the  wonderful 
brightness  of  the  sea,  the  next  he  saw  a  sight  so  ominous  that 
he  stood  stock-still  with  amazement,  thinking  that  his  senses 
must  be  deceiving  him.  The  white  moonbeams  lighted  the 
horizon,  so  that  he  could  distinguish  the  sails  of  ships  still  a 
considerable  distance  out  at  sea.  A  shudder  ran  through 
him;  he  tried  to  persuade  himself  that  this  was  some  optical 
delusion  brought  about  by  chance  effects  of  moonlight  on  the 
waves ;  and  even  as  he  made  the  attempt,  a  hoarse  voice 
called  to  him  by  name.  The  officer  glanced  at  the  gap  in  the 
wall ;  saw  a  soldier's  head  slowly  emerge  from  it,  and  knew 
the  grenadier  whom  he  had  ordered  to  accompany  him  to  the 
castle. 

"  Is  that  you,  commandant?  " 

"Yes.  What  is  it?"  returned  the  young  officer  in  a  low 
voice.     A  kind  of  presentiment  warned  him  to  act  cautiously. 

"  Those  beggars  down  there  are  creeping  about  like  worms ; 
and,  by  your  leave,  I  came  as  quickly  as  I  could  to  report  my 
little  reconnoitring  expedition." 


300  THE  EXECUTIONER. 

"  Go  on,"  answered  Victor  Marchand. 

**  I  have  just  been  following  a  man  from  the  castle  who 
came  round  this  way  with  a  lantern  in  his  hand.  A  lantern 
is  a  suspicious  matter  with  a  vengeance!  I  don't  imagine 
that  there  was  any  need  for  that  good  Christian  to  be  lighting 
tapers  at  this  time  of  night.  Says  I  to  myself,  '  They  mean 
to  gobble  us  up ! '  and  I  set  myself  to  dogging  his  heels ; 
and  that  is  how  I  found  out  that  there  is  a  pile  of  faggots,  sir, 
two  or  three  steps  away  from  here. ' ' 

Suddenly  a  dreadful  shriek  rang  through  the  town  below, 
and  cut  the  man  short.  A  light  flashed  in  the  commandant's 
face,  and  the  poor  grenadier  dropped  down  with  a  bullet 
through  his  head.  Ten  paces  away  a  bonfire  flared  up  like  a 
conflagration.  The  sounds  of  music  and  laughter  ceased  all 
at  once  in  the  ballroom ;  the  silence  of  death,  broken  only 
by  groans,  succeeded  to  the  rhythmical  murmur  of  tlie  festival. 
Then  the  roar  of  cannon  sounded  from  across  the  white  plain 
of  the  sea. 

A  cold  sweat  broke  out  on  the  young  officer's  forehead. 
He  had  left  his  sword  behind.  He  knew  that  his  men  had 
been  murdered,  and  that  the  English  were  about  to  land.  He 
knew  that  if  he  lived  he  would  be  dishonored ;  he  saw  him- 
self summoned  before  a  court-martial.  For  a  moment  his 
eyes  measured  the  depth  of  the  valley ;  the  next,  just  as  he 
was  about  to  spring  down,  Clara's  hand  caught  his. 

**  Fly  !  "  she  cried.  "  My  brothers  are  coming  after  me  to 
kill  you.  Down  yonder  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff"  you  will  find 
Juanito's  Andalusian.     Go  !  " 

She  thrust  him  away.  The  young  man  gazed  at  her  in  dull 
bewilderment ;  but  obeying  the  instinct  of  self-preservation, 
which  never  deserts  even  the  bravest,  he  rushed  across  the 
park  in  the  direction  pointed  out  to  him,  springing  from  rock 
to  rock  in  places  unknown  to  any  save  the  goats.  He  heard 
Clara  calling  to  her  brothers  to  pursue  him  ;  he  heard  the  foot- 
steps of  the  murderers  ;  again  and  again  he  heard  their  balls 


THE  EXECUTIONER.  301 

whistling  about  his  ears ;  but  he  reached  the  foot  of  the  cliff, 
found  the  horse,  mounted,  and  fled  with  lightning  speed. 

A  few  hours  later  the  young  officer  reached  General  G *s 

quarters,  and  found  him  at  dinner  with  the  staff. 

"I  put  my  life  in  your  hands!"  cried  the  haggard  and 
exhausted  commandant  of  Menda. 

He  sank  into  a  seat,  and  told  his  horrible  story.  It  was 
received  with  an  appalling  silence. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  you  are  more  to  be  pitied  than  to 
blame,"  the  terrible  general  said  at  last.  "You  are  not 
answerable  for  the  Spaniard's  crimes,  and,  unless  the  marshal 
decides  otherwise,  I  acquit  you." 

These  words  brought  but  cold  comfort  to  the  unfortunate 
officer. 

"  When  the  Emperor  comes  to  hear  about  it !  "  he  cried. 

"Oh,  he  will  be  for  having  you  shot,"  said  the  general, 
"  but  we  shall  see.  Now  we  will  say  no  more  about  this," 
he  added  severely,  "  except  to  plan  a  revenge  that  shall  strike 
a  salutary  terror  into  this  country,  where  they  carry  on  war 
like  savages." 

An  hour  later  a  whole  regiment,  a  detachment  of  cavalry, 
and  a  convoy  of  artillery  were  upon  the  road.  The  general 
and  Victor  marched  at  the  head  of  the  column.  The  soldiers 
had  been  told  of  the  fate  of  their  comrades,  and  their  rage 
knew  no  bounds.  The  distance  between  headquarters  and  the 
town  of  Menda  was  crossed  at  a  wellnigh  miraculous  speed. 
Whole  villages  by  the  way  were  found  to  be  under  arms  ;  every 
one  of  the  wretched  hamlets  was  surrounded  and  their  inhab- 
itants decimated. 

It  so  chanced  that  the  English  vessels  still  lay  out  at  sea, 
and  were  no  nearer  the  shore,  a  fact  inexplicable  until  it  was 
known  afterwards  that  they  were  artillery  transports  which 
had  outsailed  the  rest  of  the  fleet.  So  the  townsmen  of 
Menda,  left  without  the  assistance  on  which  they  had  reck- 
oned when  the  sails  of  the  English  appeared,  were  surrounded 


302  THE  EXECUTIONER. 

by  French  troops  almost  before  they  had  had  time  to  strike  a 
blow.  This  struck  such  terror  into  them  that  they  offered  to 
surrender  at  discretion.  An  impulse  of  devotion,  no  isolated 
instance  in  the  history  of  the  Peninsula,  led  the  actual  slayers 
of  the  French  to  offer  to  give  themselves  up  3  seeking  in  this 
way  to  save  the  town,  for  from  the  general's  reputation  for 
cruelty  it  was  feared  that  he  would  give  Menda  over  to  the 
flames,  and  put  the  whole  population  to  the  sword.     General 

G took  their  offer,   stipulating   that   every   soul   in   the 

castle  from  the  lowest  servant  to  the  Marquis  should  likewise 
be  given  up  to  him.  These  terms  being  accepted,  the  general 
promised  to  spare  the  lives  of  the  rest  of  the  townsmen,  and 
to  prohibit  his  soldiers  from  pillaging  or  setting  fire  to  the 
town.  A  heavy  contribution  was  levied,  and  the  wealthiest 
inhabitants  were  taken  as  hostages  to  guarantee  payment 
within  twenty-four  hours. 

The  general  took  every  necessary  precaution  for  the  safety 
of  his  troops,  provided  for  the  defense  of  the  place,  and  re- 
fused to  billet  his  men  in  the  houses  of  the  town.  After  they 
had  bivouacked,  he  went  up  to  the  castle  and  entered  it  as  a 
conqueror.  The  whole  family  of  Leganes  and  their  household 
were  gagged,  shut  up  in  the  great  ballroom,  and  closely 
watched.  From  the  windows  it  was  easy  to  see  the  whole 
length  of  the  terrace  above  the  town. 

The  staff  was  established  in  an  adjoining  gallery,  where  the 
general  forthwith  held  a  council  as  to  the  best  means  of  pre- 
venting the  landing  of  the  English.  An  aide-de-camp  was 
despatched  to  Marshal  Ney,  orders  were  issued  to  plant  bat- 
teries along  the  coast,  and  then  the  general  and  his  staff 
turned  their  attention  to  their  prisoners.  The  two  hundred 
Spaniards  given  up  by  the  townsfolk  were  shot  down  then  and 
there  upon  the  terrace.  And  after  this  military  execution, 
the  general  gave  orders  to  erect  gibbets  to  the  number  of  the 
prisoners  in  the  ballroom  in  the  same  place,  and  to  send  for 
the  hangman  out  of  the  town.     Victor  took  advantage  of  the 


THE  EXECUTIONER.  303 

interval  before  dinner  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  prisoners.  He 
soon  came  back  to  the  general. 

"I  am  come  in  haste,"  he  faltered  out,  "to  ask  a  favor." 

**  K?«/"  exclaimed  the  general,  with  bitter  irony  in  his 
tones. 

"Alas!"  answered  Victor,  "it  is  a  sorry  favor.  The 
Marquis  has  seen  them  erecting  the  gallows,  and  hopes  that 
you  will  commute  the  punishment  for  his  family ;  he  entreats 
you  to  have  the  nobles  beheaded." 

"Granted,"  said  the  general. 

"  He  further  asks  that  they  maybe  allowed  the  consolations 
of  religion,  and  that  they  may  be  unbound ;  they  give  you 
their  word  that  they  will  not  attempt  to  escape." 

"That  I  permit,"  said  the  general,  "  but  you  are  answerable 
for  them." 

"The  old  noble  offers  you  all  that  he  has  if  you  will  pardon 
his  youngest  son." 

"  Really  !  "  cried  the  commander.  "  His  property  is  for- 
feited already  to  King  Joseph."  He  paused ;  a  contemptuous 
thought  set  wrinkles  in  his  forehead,  as  he  added,  "  I  will  do 
better  than  they  ask.  I  understand  what  he  means  by  that 
last  request  of  his.  Very  good.  Let  him  hand  down  his 
name  to  posterity;  but  whenever  it  is  mentioned,  all  Spain 
shall  remember  his  treason  and  its  punishment !  I  will  give 
the  fortune  and  his  life  to  any  one  of  the  sons  who  will  do  the 
executioner's  office.  There,  don't  talk  any  more  about  them 
to  me." 

Dinner  was  ready.  The  officers  sat  down  to  satisfy  an  ap- 
petite whetted  by  hunger.  Only  one  among  them  was  absent 
from  the  table — that  one  was  Victor  Marchand.  After  long 
hesitation,  he  went  to  the  ballroom,  and  heard  the  last  sighs 
of  the  proud  house  of  L6ganes.  He  looked  sadly  at  the 
scene  before  him.  Only  last  night,  in  this  very  room,  he  had 
seen  their  faces  whirl  past  him  in  the  waltz,  and  he  shud- 
dered to  think  that  those  girlish  heads  with  those  of  the  three 


804  THE  EXECUTIONER. 

young  brothers  must  fall  in  a  brief  space  by  the  executioner's 
sword.  There  sat  the  father  and  mother,  their  three  sons 
and  two  daughters,  perfectly  motionless,  bound  to  their  gilded 
chairs.  Eight  serving-men  stood  with  their  hands  tied  behind 
them.  These  fifteen  prisoners,  under  sentence  of  death,  ex- 
changed grave  glances  j  it  was  difficult  to  read  the  thoughts 
that  filled  them  from  their  eyes,  but  profound  resignation  and 
regret  that  their  enterprise  should  have  failed  so  completely 
was  written  on  more  than  one  brow. 

The  impassive  soldiers  who  guarded  them  respected  the 
grief  of  their  bitter  enemies.  A  gleam  of  curiosity  lighted 
up  all  faces  when  Victor  came  in.  He  gave  orders  that  the  con- 
demned prisoners  should  be  unbound,  and  himself  unfastened 
the  cords  that  held  Clara  a  prisoner.  She  smiled  mournfully 
at  him.  The  officer  could  not  refrain  from  lightly  touching 
the  young  girl's  arm ;  he  could  not  help  admiring  her  dark 
hair,  her  slender  waist.  She  was  a  true  daughter  of  Spain,  with 
a  Spanish  complexion,  a  Spaniard's  eyes,  blacker  than  the 
raven's  wing  beneath  their  long  curving  lashes. 

**  Did  you  succeed  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  mournful  smile,  in 
which  a  certain  girlish  charm  still  lingered. 

Victor  could  nor  repress  a  groan.  He  looked  from  the 
faces  of  the  three  brothers  to  Clara,  and  again  at  the  three 
young  Spaniards.  The  first,  the  oldest  of  the  family,  was  a 
man  of  thirty.  He  was  short,  and  somewhat  ill  made ;  he 
looked  haughty  and  proud,  but  a  certain  distinction  was  not 
lacking  in  his  bearing,  and  he  was  apparently  no  stranger  to 
the  delicacy  of  feeling  for  which  in  olden  times  the  chivalry 
of  Spain  was  famous.  His  name  was  Juanito.  The  second 
son,  Felipe,  was  about  twenty  years  of  age ;  he  was  like  his 
sister  Clara  ;  and  the  youngest  was  a  child  of  eight.  In  the 
features  of  little  Manuel  a  painter  would  have  discerned  some- 
thing of  that  Roman  steadfastness  which  David  has  given  to  the 
children's  faces  in  his  Republican  genre  pictures.  The  old 
Marquis,  with  his  white  hair,  might  have  come  down  from 


THE  EXECUTIONER.  305 

some  canvas  of  Murillo's.  Victor  threw  back  his  head  in 
despair  after  this  survey ;  how  should  one  of  these  accept  the 
general's  offer !  nevertheless  he  ventured  to  intrust  it  to  Clara. 
A  shudder  ran  through  the  Spanish  girl,  but  she  recovered 
herself  almost  instantly,  and  knelt  before  her  father. 

"Father,"  she  said,  "bid  Juanito  swear  to  obey  the  com- 
mands that  you  shall  give  him,  and  we  shall  be  content." 

Tlie  Marquesa  trembled  with  hope,  but  as  she  leaned  towards 
her  husband  and  learned  Clara's  hideous  secret  the  mother 
fainted  away.  Juanito  understood  it  all,  and  leaped  up  like  a 
caged  lion.  Victor  took  it  upon  himself  to  dismiss  the  sol- 
diers, after  receiving  an  assurance  of  entire  submission  from 
the  Marquis.  The  servants  were  led  away  and  given  over  to 
the  hangman  and  their  fate.  When  only  Victor  remained  on 
guard  in  the  room,  the  old  Marquds  de  L^gafiesrose  to  his  feet. 

"Juanito,"  he  said.  For  all  answer  Juanito  bowed  his 
head  in  a  way  that  meant  refusal ;  he  sank  down  into  his  chair, 
and  fixed  tearless  eyes  upon  his  father  and  mother  in  an  intol- 
erable gaze.  Clara  went  over  to  him  and  sat  on  his  knee  j 
she  put  her  arms  about  him,  and  pressed  kisses  on  his  eyelids, 
saying  gaily — 

"  Dear  Juanito,  if  you  but  knew  how  sweet  death  at  your 
hands  will  be  to  me  !  I  shall  not  be  compelled  to  submit  to 
the  hateful  touch  of  the  hangman's  fingers.     You  will  snatch 

me  away  from  the  evils  to  come  and Dear,  kind  Juanito, 

you  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  my  belonging  to  any  onfr — 
well,  then?" 

The  velvet  eyes  gave  Victor  a  burning  glance ;  she 
seemed  to  try  to  awaken  in  Juanito's  heart  his  hatred  for  the 
French. 

"Take  courage,"  said  his  brother  Felipe,  "or  our  well- 
nigh  royal  line  will  be  extinct." 

Suddenly   Clara  sprang   to  her   feet.      The   group  round 
Juanito  fell  back,  and  the  son  who  had  rebelled  with  such 
good  reason  was  confronted  with  his  aged  father. 
20 


306  THE  EXECUTIONER. 

"  Juanito,  I  command  you  !  "  said  the  Marquis  solemnly. 

The  yount  Count  gave  no  sign,  and  his  father  fell  on  his 
knees;  Clara,  Manuel,  and  Felipe  unconsciously  followed  his 
example,  stretching  out  suppliant  hands  to  him  who  must  save 
their  family  from  oblivion,  and  seeming  to  echo  their  father's 
words. 

"  Can  it  be  that  you  lack  the  fortitude  of  a  Spaniard  and 
true  sensibility,  my  son  ?  Do  you  mean  to  keep  me  on  my 
knees?  What  right  have  you  to  think  of  your  own  life  and 
of  your  own  sufferings?  Is  this  my  son,  madame?"  the  old 
Marquis  added,  turning  to  his  wife. 

**He  will  consent  to  it,"  cried  the  mother  in  agony  of  soul. 
She  had  seen  a  slight  contraction  of  Juanito's  brows  which 
she,  his  mother,  alone  understood. 

Mariquita,  the  second  daughter,  knelt,  with  her  slender 
clinging  arms  about  her  mother ;  the  hot  tears  fell  from  her 
eyes,  and  her  little  brother  Manuel  upbraided  her  for  weeping. 
Just  at  that  moment  the  castle  chaplain  came  in ;  the  whole 
family  surrounded  him  and  led  him  up  to  Juanito.  Victor 
felt  that  he  could  endure  the  sight  no  longer,  and  with  a  sign 
to  Clara  he  hurried  from  the  room  to  make  one  last  effort 
for  them.  He  found  the  general  in  boisterous  spirits;  the 
officers  were  still  sitting  over  their  dinner  and  drinking  to- 
gether; the  wine  had  loosened  their  tongues. 

An  hour  later,  a  hundred  of  the  principal  citizens  of  Menda 
were  summoned  to  the  terrace  by  the  general's  orders  to  wit- 
ness the  execution  of  the  family  of  Legan^s.  A  detachment 
had  been  told  off  to  keep  order  among  the  Spanish  townsfolk, 
who  were  marshaled  beneath  the  gallows  whereon  the  Marquis' 
servants  hung ;  the  feet  of  those  martyrs  of  their  cause  all  but 
touched  the  citizens'  heads.  Thirty  paces  away  stood  the 
block;  the  blade  of  a  scimitar  glittered  upon  it,  and  the  exe- 
cutioner stood  by  in  case  Juanito  should  refuse  at  the  last. 

The  deepest  silence  prevailed,  but  before  long  it  was  broken 
by  the  sound  of  many  footsteps,  the  measured  tramp  of  a  picket 


THE  EXECUTIONER.  807 

of  soldiers,  and  the  jingling  of  their  weapons.  Mingled  with 
these  came  other  noises — loud  talk  and  laughter  from  the 
dinner-table  where  the  officers  were  sitting ;  just  as  the  music 
and  the  sound  of  the  dancers'  feet  had  drowned  the  prepara- 
tions for  last  night's  treacherous  butchery. 

All  eyes  turned  to  the  castle,  and  beheld  the  family  of 
nobles  coming  forth  with  incredible  composure  to  their  death. 
Every  brow  was  serene  and  calm.  One  alone  among  them, 
haggard  and  overcome,  leaned  on  the  arm  of  the  priest,  who 
poured  forth  all  the  consolations  of  religion  for  the  one  man 
who  was  condemned  to  live.  Then  the  executioner,  like  the 
spectators,  knew  that  Juanito  had  consented  to  perform  his 
office  for  a  day.  The  old  Marquis  and  his  wife,  Clara  and 
Mariquita,  and  their  two  brothers  knelt  a  few  paces  from  the 
fatal  spot.  Juanito  reached  it,  guided  by  the  priest.  As  he 
stood  at  the  block,  the  executioner  plucked  him  by  the  sleeve, 
and  took  him  aside,  probably  to  give  him  certain  instructions. 
The  confessor  so  placed  the  victims  that  they  could  not  wit- 
ness the  executions,  but  one  and  all  stood  upright  and  fearless, 
like  Spaniards,  as  they  were. 

Clara  sprang  to  her  brother's  side  before  the  others. 

"Juanito,"  she  said  to  him,  "be  merciful  to  my  lack  of 
courage.     Take  me  first !  " 

As  she  spoke,  the  footsteps  of  a  man  running  at  full  speed 
echoed  from  the  walls,  and  Victor  appeared  upon  the  scene. 
Clara  was  kneeling  before  the  block ;  her  white  neck  seemed 
to  appeal  to  the  blade  to  fall.  The  officer  turned  faint,  but 
he  found  strength  to  rush  to  her  side. 

**  The  general  grants  you  your  life  if  you  will  consent  to 
marry  me,"  he  murmured. 
The  Spanish  girl  gave  the  officer  a  glance  full  of  proud  disdain. 

"  Now,  Juanito  !  "  she  said  in  her  deep-toned  voice. 

Her  head  fell  at  Victor's  feet.  A  shudder  ran  through  the 
Marquesa  de  L^gaftds,  a  convulsive  tremor  that  she  could  not 
control,  but  she  gave  no  other  sign  of  her  anguish. 


SOB  THE  EXECUTIONER. 

"Is  this  where  I  ought  to  be,  dear  Juanito?  Is  it  all 
right?  "  little  Manuel  asked  his  brother. 

"Oh,  Mariquita,  you  are  weeping!"  Juanito  said  when 
his  sister  came. 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl;  "I  am  thinking  of  you,  poor 
Juanito  ;  how  unhappy  you  will  be  when  we  are  gone. ' ' 

Then  the  Marquis'  tall  figure  approached.  He  looked  at 
the  block  where  his  children's  blood  had  been  shed,  turned  to 
the  mute  and  motionless  crowd,  and  said  in  a  loud  voice  as  he 
stretched  out  his  hands  to  Juanito. 

"Spaniards!  I  give  my  son  a  father's  blessing.  Now, 
Marquis t  strike  *  without  fear ; '  thou  art  '  without  reproach.'  " 

But  when  his  mother  came  near,  leaning  on  the  confessor's 
arm — "She  fed  me  from  her  breast!"  Juanito  cried,  in 
tones  that  drew  a  cry  of  horror  from  the  crowd.  The 
uproarious  mirth  of  the  officers  over  their  wine  died  away 
before  that  terrible  cry.  The  Marquesa  knew  that  Juanito's 
courage  was  exhausted ;  at  one  bound  she  sprang  to  the  balus- 
trade, leaped  forth,  and  was  dashed  to  pieces  on  the  rocks 
below.  A  cry  of  admiration  broke  from  the  spectators. 
Juanito  swooned. 

"  General,"  said  an  officer,  half-drunk  by  this  time,  "  Mar- 
chand  has  just  been  telling  me  something  about  this  execu- 
tion ;  I  will  wager  that  it  was  not  by  your  orders." 

"Are  you  forgetting,  gentlemen,  that  in  a  month's  time 
five  hundred  families  in  France  will  be  in  mourning,  and  that 

we   are   still    in  Spain?"    cried    General  G .    "Do  you 

want  us  to  leave  our  bones  here? " 

But  not  a  man  at  the  table,  not  even  a  subaltern,  dared  to 
empty  his  glass  after  that  speech. 

In  spite  of  the  respect  in  which  all  men  hold  the  Marques 
de  L^gafids,  in  spite  of  the  title  of  El  Vcrdugo  (the  execu- 
tioner) conferred  upon  him  as  a  patent  of  nobility  by  the 


THE  EXECUTIONER.  309 

King  of  Spain,  the  great  noble  is  consumed  by  a  gnawing 
grief.  He  lives  a  retired  life,  and  seldom  appears  in  public. 
The  burden  of  his  heroic  crime  weighs  heavily  upon  him,  and 
he  seems  to  wait  impatiently  till  the  birth  of  a  second  son 
shall  release  him,  and  he  may  go  to  join  the  Shades  that 
never  cease  to  haunt  him. 

Paris,  October,  1820. 


FAREWELL. 

To  Prince  Friedrich  von  Schwarzenberg. 

**  Come,  Deputy  of  the  Centre,  come  along !  We  shall 
have  to  mend  our  pace  if  we  mean  to  sit  down  to  dinner 
when  every  one  else  does,  and  that's  a  fact !  Hurry  up  ! 
Jump,  Marquis  !  That's  it !  Well  done  !  You  are  bounding 
over  the  furrows  just  like  a  stag  !  " 

These  words  were  uttered  by  a  sportsman  seated  much  at 
his  ease  on  the  outskirts  of  the  Forgt  de  I'lsle-Adam  ;  he  had 
just  finished  a  Havana  cigar,  which  he  had  smoked  while  he 
waited  for  his  companion,  who  had  evidently  been  straying 
about  for  some  time  among  the  forest  undergrowth.  Four 
panting  dogs  by  the  speaker's  side  likewise  watched  the  pro- 
gress of  the  personage  for  whose  benefit  the  remarks  were 
made.  To  make  their  sarcastic  import  fully  clear,  it  should 
be  added  that  the  second  sportsman  was  both  short  and  stout ; 
his  ample  girth  indicated  a  truly  magisterial  corpulence,  and 
in  consequence  his  progress  across  the  furrows  was  by  no 
means  easy.  He  was  striding  over  a  vast  field  of  stubble; 
the  dried  cornstalks  underfoot  added  not  a  little  to  the  diffi- 
culties of  his  passage,  and,  to  add  to  his  discomforts,  the  genial 
influence  of  the  sun  that  slanted  into  his  eyes  brought  great 
drops  of  perspiration  into  his  face.  The  uppermost  thought 
in  his  mind  being  a  strong  desire  to  keep  his  balance,  he 
lurched  to  and  fro  much  like  a  coach  jolted  over  an  atrocious 
road. 

It  was  one  of  those  September  days  of  almost  tropical  heat 
that  finishes  the  work  of  summer  and  ripens  the  grapes.    Such 

(310) 


FAREWELL.  311 

heat  forbodes  a  coming  storm ;  and  though  as  yet  there  were 
wide  patches  of  blue  between  the  dark  rain-clouds  low  down 
on  the  horizon,  pale  golden  masses  were  rising  and  scattering 
with  ominous  swiftness  from  west  to  east,  and  drawing  a  shad- 
owy veil  across  the  sky.  The  wind  was  still,  save  in  the  upper 
regions  of  the  air,  so  that  the  weight  of  the  atmosphere 
seemed  to  compress  the  steamy  heat  of  the  earth  into  the 
forest  glades.  The  tall  forest  trees  shut  out  every  breath  of 
air  so  completely  that  the  little  valley  across  which  the  sports- 
man was  making  his  way  was  as  hot  as  a  furnace  ;  the  silent 
forest  seemed  parched  with  the  fiery  heat.  Birds  and  insects 
were  mute ;  the  topmost  twigs  of  the  trees  swayed  with 
scarcely  perceptible  motion.  Any  one  who  retains  some  recol- 
lection of  the  summer  of  1819  must  surely  compassionate  the 
plight  of  the  hapless  supporter  of  the  ministry  who  toiled  and 
sweated  over  the  stubble  to  rejoin  his  satirical  comrade.  That 
gentleman,  as  he  smoked  his  cigar,  had  arrived,  by  a  process 
of  calculation  based  on  the  altitude  of  the  sun,  to  the  con- 
clusion that  it  must  be  about  five  o'clock. 

"Where  the  devil  are  we?"  asked  the  stout  sportsman. 
He  wiped  his  brow  as  he  spoke,  and  propped  himself  against 
a  tree  in  the  field  opposite  his  companion,  feeling  quite  un- 
equal to  clearing  the  broad  ditch  that  lay  between  them. 

"And  you  ask  that  question  of  me !"  retorted  the  other, 
laughing  from  his  bed  of  tall  brown  grasses  on  the  top  of  the 
bank.  He  flung  the  end  of  his  cigar  into  the  ditch,  exclaim- 
ing, "I  swear  by  Saint  Hubert  that  no  one  shall  catch  me 
risking  myself  again  in  a  country  that  I  don't  know  with 
a  magistrate,  even  if,  like  you,  my  dear  d'Albon,  he  happens 
to  be  an  old  schoolfellow." 

"Why,  Philip,  have  you  really  forgotten  your  own  lan- 
guage ?  You  surely  must  have  left  your  wits  behind  you  in 
Siberia,"  said  the  stouter  of  the  two,  with  a  glance  half- 
comic,  half-pathetic  at  a  guide-post  distant  about  a  hundred 
paces  from  them. 


312  FAREWELL. 

**  I  understand,"  replied  the  one  addressed  as  Philip.  He 
snatched  up  his  rifle,  suddenly  sprang  to  his  feet,  made  but 
one  jump  of  it  into  tlie  field,  and  rushed  off  to  the  guide-post. 
*'  This  way,  d'Albon,  here  you  are  !  left  about !  "  he  shouted, 
gesticulating  in  the  direction  of  the  high-road.  "  To  Baillet 
and  r Isle- Adam  !  "  he  went  on  ;  "so  if  we  go  along  here, 
we  shall  be  sure  to  come  upon  the  cross-road  to  Cassan." 

"Quite  right,  colonel,"  said  M.  d'Albon,  putting  the  cap 
with  which  he  had  been  fanning  himself  back  on  his  head. 

"Then  forward!  highly  respected  councilor,"  returned 
Colonel  Philip,  whistling  to  the  dogs,  that  seemed  already  to 
obey  him  rather  than  the  magistrate  their  master. 

"  Are  you  aware,  my  Lord  Marquis,  that  two  leagues  yet 
remain  before  us?"  inquired  the  malicious  soldier.  "That 
village  down  yonder  must  be  Baillet." 

"  Great  heavens  ?  "  cried  the  Marquis  d'Albon.  "Goon 
to  Cassan  by  all  means,  if  you  like ;  but  if  you  do,  you  will 
go  alone.  I  prefer  to  wait  here,  storm  or  no  storm ;  you  can 
send  a  horse  for  me  from  the  chateau.  You  have  been  making 
game  of  me,  Sucy.  We  were  to  have  a  nice  day's  sport  by 
ourselves ;  we  were  not  to  go  very  far  from  Cassan,  and  go 
over  ground  that  I  knew.  Pooh  !  Instead  of  a  day's  fun, 
you  have  kept  me  running  like  a  greyhound  since  four  o'clock 
this  morning,  and  nothing  but  a  cup  or  two  of  milk  by  way 
of  breakfast.  Oh  !  if  ever  you  find  yourself  in  a  court  of  law, 
I  will  take  care  that  the  day  goes  against  you  if  you  were  in 
the  right  a  hundred  times  over." 

The  dejected  sportsman  sat  himself  down  on  one  of  the 
stumps  at  the  foot  of  the  guide-post,  disencumbered  himself 
of  his  rifle  and  empty  game-bag,  and  heaved  a  prolonged  sigh. 

"Oh,  France,  behold  thy  deputies  !  "  laughed  Colonel  de 
Sucy.  "  Poor  old  d'Albon  ;  if  you  had  spent  six  months  at 
the  other  end  of  Siberia  as  I  did " 

He  broke  off,  and  his  eyes  sought  the  sky,  as  if  the  story  of 
his  troubles  was  a  secret  between  himself  and  God. 


FAREWELL.  313 

"Come,  march  !  "  he  added,  "  If  you  once  sit  down,  it 
is  all  over  with  you." 

"I  can't  help  it,  Philip!  It  is  such  an  old  habit  in  a 
magistrate  !  I  am  dead  beat,  upon  my  honor.  If  I  had 
only  bagged  one  hare  though  !  " 

Two  men  more  different  are  seldom  seen  together.  The 
civilian,  a  man  of  forty-two,  seemed  scarcely  more  than  thirty ; 
while  the  soldier,  at  thirty  years  of  age,  looked  to  be  forty  at 
the  least.  Both  wore  the  red  rosette  that  proclaimed  them 
to  be  officers  of  the  Legion  of  Honor.  A  few  locks  of  hair, 
mingled  white  and  black,  like  a  magpie's  wing,  had  strayed 
from  beneath  the  colonel's  cap;  while  thick,  fair  curls  clus- 
tered about  the  magistrate's  temples.  The  colonel  was  tall, 
spare,  dried  up,  but  muscular ;  the  lines  in  his  pale  face  told 
a  tale  of  vehement  passions  or  of  terrible  sorrows ;  but  his 
comrade's  jolly  countenance  beamed  with  health,  and  would 
have  done  credit  to  an  Epicurean.  Both  men  were  deeply 
sunburnt.  Their  high  gaiters  of  brown  leather  carried  souve- 
nirs of  every  ditch  and  swamp  that  they  crossed  that  day. 

"  Come,  come,"  cried  M.  de  Sucy,  "  forward  !  One  short 
hour's  march,  and  we  shall  be  at  Cassan  with  a  good  dinner 
before  us." 

"You  never  were  in  love,  that  is  positive,"  returned  the 
councilor,  with  a  comically  piteous  expression.  "You  are 
as  inexorable  as  Article  304  of  the  Penal  Code  !  " 

Philip  de  Sucy  shuddered  violently.  Deep  lines  appeared 
in  his  broad  forehead,  his  face  was  overcast  like  the  sky  above 
them  ;  but  though  his  features  seemed  to  contract  with  the 
pain  of  an  intolerably  bitter  memory,  no  tears  came  to  his 
eyes.  Like  all  men  of  strong  character,  he  possessed  the 
power  of  forcing  his  emotions  down  into  some  inner  depth, 
and,  perhaps,  like  many  reserved  natures,  he  shrank  from  lay- 
ing bare  a  wound  too  deep  for  any  words  of  human  speech, 
and  winced  at  the  thought  of  ridicule  from  those  who  do  not 
care  to  understand.     M.  d'Albon  was  one  of  those  who  are 


314  FAREWELL. 

keenly  sensitive  by  nature  to  the  distress  of  others,  who  feel 
at  once  the  pain  they  have  unwittingly  given  by  some  blunder. 
He  respected  his  friend's  mood,  rose  to  his  feet,  forgot  his 
weariness,  and  followed  in  silence,  thoroughly  annoyed  with 
himself  for  having  touched  on  a  wound  that  seemed  not  yet 
healed. 

"  Some  day  I  will  tell  you  my  story,"  Philip  said  at  last, 
wringing  his  friend's  hands,  while  he  acknowledged  his  dumb 
repentance  with  a  heartrending  glance.     *•  To-day,  I  cannot." 

They  walked  on  in  silence.  As  the  colonel's  distress  passed 
off  the  councilor's  fatigue  returned.  Instinctively,  or  rather 
urged  by  weariness,  his  eyes  explored  the  depths  of  the  forest 
around  them  ;  he  looked  high  and  low  among  the  trees,  and 
gazed  along  the  avenues,  hoping  to  discover  some  dwelling 
where  he  might  ask  for  hospitality.  They  reached  a  place 
where  several  roads  met ;  and  the  councilor,  fancying  that  he 
saw  a  thin  film  of  smoke  rising  through  the  trees,  made  a 
stand  and  looked  sharply  about  him.  He  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  dark  green  branches  of  some  firs  among  the  other  forest 
trees,  and  finally,  "  A  house !  a  house!"  he  shouted.  No 
sailor  could  have  raised  the  cry  of  "Land  ahead  !  "  more 
joyfully  than  he. 

He  plunged  at  once  into  undergrowth,  somewhat  of  the 
thickest ;  and  the  colonel,  who  had  fallen  into  deep  musings, 
followed  him  unheedingly. 

**  I  would  rather  have  an  omelette  here  and  home-made 
bread,  and  a  chair  to  sit  down  in,  than  go  further  for  a  sofa, 
truffles,  and  Bordeaux  wine  at  Cassan." 

This  outburst  of  enthusiasm  on  the  councilor's  part  was 
caused  by  the  sight  of  the  whitened  wall  of  a  house  in  the 
distance,  standing  out  in  strong  contrast  against  the  brown 
masses  of  knotted  tree-trunks  in  the  forest. 

"Aha!  This  used  to  be  a  priory,  I  should  say,"  the 
Marquis  d'Albon  cried  once  more,  as  they  stood  before  a 
grim  old  gateway.     Through  the  grating  they  could  see  the 


FAREWELL.  315 

house  itself  standing  in  the  midst  of  some  considerable  extent 
of  park  land ;  from  the  style  of  the  architecture  it  appeared 
to  have  been  a  monastery  once  upon  a  time. 

"Those  knowing  rascals  of  monks  knew  how  to  choose  a 
site!  " 

This  last  exclamation  was  caused  by  the  magistrate's  amaze- 
ment at  the  romantic  hermitage  before  his  eyes.  The  house 
had  been  built  on  a  spot  half-way  up  the  hillside  on  the  slope 
below  the  village  of  Nerville,  which  crowned  the  summit.  A 
huge  circle  of  great  oak  trees,  hundreds  of  years  old,  guarded 
the  solitary  place  from  intrusion.  There  appeared  to  be 
about  forty  acres  of  the  park.  The  main  building  of  the 
monastery  faced  the  south,  and  stood  in  a  space  of  green 
meadow,  picturesquely  intersected  by  several  tiny  clear 
streams,  and  by  larger  sheets  of  water  so  disposed  as  to  have 
a  natural  effect.  Shapely  trees  with  contrasting  foliage  grew 
here  and  there.  Grottos  had  been  ingeniously  contrived ; 
and  broad  terraced  walks,  now  in  ruin,  though  the  steps  were 
broken  and  the  balustrades  eaten  through  with  rust,  gave  to 
this  sylvan  Thebaid  a  certain  character  of  its  own.  The  art 
of  man  and  the  picturesqueness  of  nature  had  wrought  together 
to  produce  a  charming  effect.  Human  passions  surely  could 
not  cross  that  boundary  of  tall  oak  trees  which  shut  out  the 
sounds  of  the  outer  world,  and  screened  the  fierce  heat  of  the 
sun  from  this  forest  sanctuary. 

"  What  neglect !  "  said  M.  d'Albon  to  himself,  after  the 
first  sense  of  delight  in  the  melancholy  aspect  of  the  ruins  in 
the  landscape,  which  seemed  blighted  by  a  curse. 

It  was  like  some  haunted  spot,  shunned  of  men.  The  twisted 
ivy  stems  clambered  everywhere,  hiding  everything  away 
beneath  a  luxuriant  green  mantle.  Moss  and  lichens,  brown 
and  gray,  yellow  and  red,  covered  the  trees  with  fantastic 
patches  of  color,  grew  upon  the  benches  in  the  garden,  over- 
ran the  roof  and  the  walls  of  the  house.  The  window-sashes 
were  weather-worn  and  warped  with  age,  the  balconies  were 


316  FAREWELL. 

dropping  to  pieces,  the  terraces  in  ruins.  Here  and  there  the 
folding  shutters  hung  by  a  single  hinge.  The  crazy  doors 
would  have  given  way  at  the  first  attempt  to  force  an  entrance. 

Out  in  the  orchard  the  neglected  fruit  trees  were  running  to 
wood,  the  rambling  branches  bore  no  fruit  save  the  glistening 
mistletoe  berries,  and  tall  plants  were  growing  in  the  garden 
walks.  All  this  forlornness  shed  a  charm  across  the  picture 
that  wrought  on  the  spectator's  mind  with  an  influence  like 
that  of  some  enchanting  poem,  filling  his  soul  with  dreamy 
fancies.  A  poet  must  have  lingered  there  in  deep  and  melan- 
choly musings,  marveling  at  the  harmony  of  this  wilderness, 
where  decay  had  a  certain  grace  of  its  own. 

In  a  moment  a  few  gleams  of  sunlight  struggled  through  a 
rift  in  the  clouds,  and  a  shower  of  colored  light  fell  over  the 
wild  garden.  The  brown  tiles  of  the  roof  glowed  in  the 
light,  the  mosses  took  bright  hues,  strange  shadows  played 
over  the  grass  beneath  the  trees ;  the  dead  autumn  tints  grew 
vivid,  bright  unexpected  contrasts  were  evoked  by  the  light, 
every  leaf  stood  out  sharply  in  the  clear,  thin  air.  Then  all 
at  once  the  sunlight  died  away,  and  the  landscape  that  seemed 
to  have  spoken  grew  silent  and  gloomy  again,  or,  rather,  it 
took  gray  soft  tones  like  the  tenderest  hues  of  autumn  dusk. 

"It  is  the  palace  of  the  Sleeping  Beauty,"  the  councilor 
said  to  himself  (he  had  already  begun  to  look  at  the  place 
from  the  point  of  view  of  an  owner  of  property).  "  Whom 
can  the  place  belong  to,  I  wonder.  He  must  be  a  great  fool 
not  to  live  on  such  a  charming  little  estate  !  " 

Just  at  that  moment,  a  woman  sprang  out  from  under  a 
walnut  tree  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  gateway,  and  passed 
before  the  councilor  as  noiselessly  and  swiftly  as  the  shadow 
of  a  cloud.  This  apparition  struck  him  dumb  with  amaze- 
ment. 

"  Hallo,  d'Albon,  what  is  the  matter?  "  asked  the  colonel. 

"  I  am  rubbing  my  eyes  to  find  out  whether  I  am  awake  or 
asleep,"  answered   the   magistrate,  whose  countenance  was 


FAREWELL.  817 

pressed  against  the  grating  in  the  hope  of  catching  a  second 
glimpse  of  the  ghost. 

"  In  all  probability  she  is  under  that  fig  tree,"  he  went  on, 
indicating,  for  Philip's  benefit,  some  branches  that  over- 
topped the  wall  on  the  left-hand  side  of  the  gateway. 

"She?     Who?" 

"  Eh  !  how  should  I  know  ?  "  answered  M.  d'Albon.  **  A 
strange-looking  woman  sprang  up  there  under  my  very  eyes 
just  now,"  he  added,  in  a  low  voice  ;  *'she  looked  to  me 
more  like  a  ghost  than  a  living  being.  She  was  so  slender, 
light  and  shadowy  that  she  might  be  transparent.  Her  face 
was  as  white  as  milk,  her  hair,  her  eyes,  and  her  dress  were 
black.  She  gave  me  a  glance  as  she  flitted  by.  I  am  not 
easily  frightened,  but  that  cold,  stony  stare  of  hers  froze  the 
blood  in  my  veins." 

"  Was  she  pretty  ?  "  inquired  Philip. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  saw  nothing  but  those  eyes  in  her 
head." 

**  The  devil  take  dinner  at  Cassan  !  "  exclaimed  the  colonel; 
"  let  us  stay  here.  I  am  as  eager  as  a  boy  to  see  the  inside  of 
this  queer  place.  The  window-sashes  are  painted  red,  do  you 
see  ?  There  is  a  red  line  round  the  panels  of  the  doors  and 
the  edges  of  the  shutters.  It  might  be  the  devil's  own  dwell- 
ing; perhaps  he  took  it  over  when  the  monks  went  out. 
Now,  then,  let  us  give  chase  to  the  black  and  white  lady ; 
come  along  !  "  cried  Philip,  with  forced  gaiety. 

He  had  scarcely  finished  speaking  when  the  two  sportsmen 
heard  a  cry  as  if  some  bird  had  been  taken  in  a  snare.  They 
listened.  There  was  a  sound  like  the  murmur  of  rippling 
water,  as  something  forced  its  way  through  the  bushes  ;  but 
diligently  as  they  lent  their  ears,  there  was  no  footfall  on  the 
path,  the  earth  kept  the  secret  of  the  mysterious  woman's 
passage,  if  indeed  she  had  moved  from  her  hiding-place. 

"  This  is  very  strange  !  "  cried  Philip. 

Following  the  wall  of  the  park,  the  two  friends  reached 


318  FAREWELL. 

before  long  a  forest  road  leading  to  the  village  of  Chauvry ; 
they  went  along  this  track  in  the  direction  of  the  highway  to 
Paris,  and  reached  another  large  gateway.  Through  the  rail- 
ings they  had  a  complete  view  of  the  facade  of  the  mysterious 
house.  From  this  point  of  view,  the  dilapidation  was  still 
more  apparent.  Huge  cracks  had  riven  the  walls  of  the  main 
body  of  the  house  built  round  three  sides  of  a  square. 
Evidently  the  place  was  allowed  to  fall  to  ruin ;  there  were 
holes  in  the  roof,  broken  slates  and  tiles  lay  about  below. 
Fallen  fruit  from  the  orchard  trees  was  left  to  rot  on  the  ground ; 
a  cow  was  grazing  over  the  bowling-green  and  trampling  the 
flowers  in  the  garden  beds ;  a  goat  browsed  on  the  green 
grapes  and  young  vine-shoots  on  the  trellis. 

"  It  is  all  of  a  piece,"  remarked  the  colonel.  **  The  neglect 
is  in  a  fashion  systematic."  He  laid  his  hand  on  the  chain 
of  the  bell-pull,  but  the  bell  had  lost  its  clapper.  The  two 
friends  heard  no  sound  save  the  peculiar  grating  creak  of  the 
rusty  spring.  A  little  door  in  the  wall  beside  the  gateway, 
though  ruinous,  held  good  against  all  their  efforts  to  force  it 
open. 

"  Oho  !  all  this  is  growing  very  interesting,"  Philip  said  to 
his  companion. 

"If  I  were  not  a  magistrate,"  returned  M.  d'Albon,  "I 
should  think  that  the  woman  in  black  is  a  witch." 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth  when  the  cow 
came  up  to  the  railings  and  held  out  her  warm  damp  nose,  as 
if  she  were  glad  of  human  society.  Then  a  woman,  if  so 
indescribable  a  being  could  be  called  a  woman,  sprang  up 
from  the  bushes,  and  pulled  at  the  cord  about  the  cow's  neck. 
From  beneath  the  crimson  handkerchief  about  the  woman's 
head,  fair  matted  hair  escaped,  something  as  tow  hangs  about 
a  spindle.  She  wore  no  kerchief  at  the  throat.  A  coarse 
black-and-gray  striped  woolen  petticoat,  too  short  by  several 
inches,  left  her  legs  bare.  She  might  have  belonged  to  some 
tribe  of  Redskins  in  Fenimore  Cooper's  novels  ;  for  her  neck. 


FAREWELL.  319 

arms,  and  ankles  looked  as  if  they  had  been  painted  brick-red. 
There  was  no  spark  of  intelligence  in  her  featureless  face  ;  her 
pale,  bluish  eyes  looked  out  dull  and  expressionless  from 
beneath  the  eyebrows  with  one  or  two  straggling  white  hairs 
on  them.  Her  teeth  were  prominent  and  uneven,  but  white 
as  a  dog's. 

"Hallo,  good  woman,"  called  M.  de  Sucy. 

She  came  slowly  up  to  the  railing,  and  stared  at  the  two 
sportsmen  with  a  contorted  smile  painful  to  see. 

"  Where  are  we?  What  is  the  name  of  the  house  yonder? 
Whom  does  it  belong  to  ?  Who  are  you  ?  Do  you  come 
from  hereabouts  ? 

To  these  questions,  and  to  a  host  of  others  poured  out  in 
succession  upon  her  by  the  two  friends,  she  made  no  answer 
save  gurgling  noises  in  the  throat,  more  like  animal  sounds 
than  anything  uttered  by  a  human  voice. 

"Don't  you  see  that  she  is  deaf  and  dumb?"  said  M. 
d'Albon. 

"  Minorites  !  "  the  peasant  woman  said  at  last. 

"  Ah  !  she  is  right.  The  house  looks  as  though  it  might 
once  have  been  a  Minorite  convent,"  he  went  on. 

Again  they  plied  the  peasant  woman  with  questions,  but, 
like  a  wayward  child,  she  colored  up,  fidgeted  with  her  sabot, 
twisted  the  rope  by  which  she  held  the  cow  that  had  fallen  to 
grazing  again,  stared  at  the  sportsmen,  and  scrutinized  every 
article  of  clothing  upon  them  ;  she  gibbered,  grunted,  and 
clucked,  but  no  articulate  word  did  she  utter. 

"Your  name?"  asked  Philip,  fixing  her  with  his  eyes  as 
if  he  were  trying  to  bewitch  the  woman. 

"  Genevieve,"  she  answered,  with  an  empty  laugh. 

"The  cow  is  the  most  intelligent  creature  we  have  seen  so 
far,"  exclaimed  the  magistrate.  "I  shall  fire  a  shot,  that 
ought  to  bring  somebody  out." 

D'Albon  had  just  taken  up  his  rifle  when  the  colonel  put 
out   a   hand   to   stop   him,  and   pointed   out  the  mysterious 


320  FAREWELL. 

woman  who  had  aroused  such  lively  curiosity  in  them.  She 
seemed  to  be  absorbed  in  deep  thought,  as  she  went  along  a 
green  alley  some  little  distance  away,  so  slowly  that  the  friends 
had  time  to  take  a  good  look  at  her.  She  wore  a  threadbare 
black  satin  gown,  her  long  hair  curled  thickly  over  her  fore- 
head, and  fell  like  a  shawl  about  her  shoulders  below  her 
waist.  Doubtless  she  was  accustomed  to  the  dishevelment  of 
her  locks,  for  she  seldom  put  back  the  hair  on  either  side  of 
her  brows  \  but  when  she  did  so,  she  shook  her  head  with  a 
sudden  jerk  that  had  not  to  be  repeated  to  sliake  away  the 
thick  veil  from  her  eyes  or  forehead.  In  everything  that  she 
did,  moreover,  there  was  a  wonderful  certainty  in  the  working 
of  the  mechanism,  an  unerring  swiftness  and  precision,  like 
that  of  an  animal,  wellnigh  marvelous  in  a  woman. 

The  two  sportsmen  were  amazed  to  see  her  spring  up  into 
an  apple  tree  and  cling  to  a  bough  lightly  as  a  bird.  She 
snatched  at  the  fruit,  ate  it,  and  dropped  to  the  ground  with 
the  same  supple  grace  that  charms  us  in  a  squirrel.  The 
elasticity  of  her  limbs  took  all  appearance  of  awkwardness  or 
effort  from  her  movements.  She  played  about  upon  the  grass, 
rolling  in  it  as  a  young  child  might  have  done ;  then,  on  a 
sudden,  she  lay  still  and  stretched  out  her  feet  and  hands, 
with  the  languid  natural  grace  of  a  kitten  dozing  in  the  sun. 

There  was  a  threatening  growl  of  thunder  far  away,  and  at 
this  she  started  up  on  all  fours  and  listened,  like  a  dog  who 
hears  a  strange  footstep.  One  result  of  this  strange  attitude 
was  to  separate  her  thick  black  hair  into  two  masses,  that  fell 
away  on  either  side  of  her  face  and  left  her  shoulders  bare ; 
the  two  witnesses  of  this  singular  scene  wondered  at  the  white- 
ness of  the  skin  that  shone  like  a  meadow  daisy,  and  at  the 
neck  that  indicated  the  perfection  of  the  rest  of  her  form. 

A  wailing  cry  broke  from  her;  she  rose  to  her  feet,  and 
stood  upright.  Every  successive  movement  was  made  so 
lightly,  so  gracefully,  so  easily,  that  she  seemed  to  be  no 
human  being,  but  one  of  Ossian's  maids  of  the  mist.     She 


FAREWELL.  321 

went  across  the  grass  to  one  of  the  pools  of  water,  deftly 
shook  off  her  shoe,  and  seemed  to  enjoy  dipping  her  foot, 
white  as  marble,  in  the  spring ;  doubtless  it  pleased  her  to 
make  the  circling  ripples,  and  watch  them  glitter  like  gems. 
She  knelt  down  by  the  brink,  and  played  there  like  a  child, 
dabbling  her  long  tresses  in  the  water,  and  flinging  them  loose 
again  to  see  the  water  drip  from  the  ends,  like  a  string  of 
pearls  in  the  sunless  light. 

"  She  is  mad  !  "  cried  the  councilor.  . 

A  hoarse  cry  rang  through  the  air;  it  came  from  Genevieve, 
and  seemed  to  be  meant  for  the  mysterious  woman.  She  rose 
to  her  feet  in  a  moment,  flinging  back  the  hair  from  her  face, 
and  then  the  colonel  and  d'Albon  could  see  her  features  dis- 
tinctly. As  soon  as  she  saw  the  two  friends  she  bounded  to 
the  railings  with  the  swiftness  of  a  fawn. 

" Fare7vell /^^  she  said  in  low,  musical  tones,  but  they 
could  not  discover  the  least  trace  of  feeling,  the  least  idea  in 
the  sweet  sounds  that  they  had  awaited  impatiently. 

M.  d'Albon  admired  the  long  lashes,  the  thick,  dark  eye- 
brows, the  dazzling  fairness  of  a  skin  untinged  by  any  trace 
of  red.  Only  the  delicate  blue  veins  contrasted  with  that 
uniform  whiteness. 

But  when  the  Marquis  turned  to  communicate  his  surprise 
at  the  sight  of  so  strange  an  apparition,  he  saw  the  colonel 
stretched  on  the  grass  like  one  dead.  M.  d'Albon  fired  his 
gun  into  the  air,  shouted  for  help,  and  tried  to  raise  his  friend. 
At  the  sound  of  the  shot,  the  strange  lady,  who  had  stood 
motionless  by  the  gate,  fled  away,  crying  out  like  a  wounded 
wild  creature,  circling  round  and  round  in  the  meadow,  with 
every  sign  of  unspeakable  terror. 

M.  d'Albon  heard  a  carriage  rolling  along  the  road  tol'Isle 
Adam,  and  waved  his  handkerchief  to  implore  help.  The 
carriage  immediately  came  towards  the  Minorite  convent,  and 
M.  d'Albon  recognized  neighbors,  M.  de  and  Mme.  de  Grand- 
ville,  who  hastened  to  alight  and  put  their  carriage  at  his  dis- 
21 


322  FAREWELL. 

posal.  Colonel  de  Sucy  inhaled  the  salts  which  Mme.  de 
Grandville  happened  to  have  with  her ;  he  opened  his  eyes, 
looked  towards  the  mysterious  figure  that  still  fled  wailing 
through  the  meadow,  and  a  faint  cry  of  horror  broke  from  him ; 
he  closed  his  eyes  again,  with  a  dumb  gesture  of  entreaty  to 
his  friends  to  take  him  away  from  this  scene.  M.  and  Mme. 
de  Grandville  begged  the  councilor  to  make  use  of  their 
carriage,  adding  very  obligingly  that  they  themselves  would 
walk. 

"Who  can  the  lady  be?"  inquired  the  magistrate,  looking 
towards  the  strange  figure. 

"People  think  that  she  comes  from  Moulins,"  answered 
M.  de  Grandville.  **  She  is  a  Comtesse  de  Vandieres;  she  is 
said  to  be  mad ;  but  as  she  has  only  been  here  for  two 
months,  I  cannot  vouch  for  the  truth  of  all  this  hearsay  talk." 

M.  d'Albon  thanked  M.  and  Mme.  de  Grandville,  and  they 
set  out  for  Cassan. 

"It  is  she  !  "  cried  Philip,  coming  to  himself. 

"She?  who?"  asked  d'Albon. 

"  Stephanie Ah  !    dead    and    yet    living  still ;    still 

alive,  but  her  mind  is  gone  !  I  thought  the  sight  would  kill 
me. 

The  prudent  magistrate,  recognizing  the  gravity  of  the  crisis 
through  which  his  friend  was  passing,  refrained  from  asking 
questions  or  exciting  him  further,  and  grew  impatient  of  the 
length  of  the  way  to  the  chateau,  for  the  change  wrought  in 
the  colonel's  face  alarmed  him.  He  feared  lest  the  Countess' 
terrible  disease  had  communicated  itself  to  Philip's  brain. 
When  they  reached  the  avenue  at  I'lsle-Adam  d'Albon  sent  the 
servant  for  the  local  doctor,  so  that  the  colonel  had  scarcely 
been  laid  in  bed  before  the  surgeon  was  beside  him. 

"  If  Monsieur  le  Colonel  had  not  been  fasting,  the  shock 
must  have  killed  him,"  pronounced  the  leech.  "He  was 
overtired,  and  that  saved  him,"  and  with  a  few  directions  as 
to  the  patient's  treatment,  he  went  to  prepare  a  composing 


FAREWELL.  323 

draught  himself.  M.  de  Sucy  was  better  the  next  morning, 
but  the  doctor  had  insisted  on  sitting  up  all  night  with  him. 

"I  confess,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,"  the  surgeon  said,  "that 
I  feared  for  the  brain.  M.  de  Sucy  has  had  some  very  violent 
shock ;  he  is  a  man  of  strong  passions,  but  with  his  tempera- 
ment, the  first  shock  decides  everything.  He  will  very  likely 
be  out  of  danger  to-morrow." 

The  doctor  was  perfectly  right.  The  next  day  the  patient 
was  allowed  to  see  his  friend. 

"  I  want  you  to  do  something  for  me,  dear  d'Albon," 
Philip  said,  grasping  his  friend's  hand.  "  Hasten  at  once  to 
the  Minorite  convent,  find  out  everything  about  the  lady 
whom  we  saw  there,  and  come  back  as  soon  as  you  can ;  I  shall 
count  the  minutes  till  I  see  you  again." 

M.  d'Albon  called  for  his  horse,  and  galloped  over  to  the 
old  monastery.  When  he  reached  the  gateway  he  found  some 
one  standing  there,  a  tall,  spare  man  with  a  kindly  face,  who 
answered  in  the  affirmative  when  he  was  asked  if  he  lived  in 
the  ruined  house.     M.  d'Albon  explained  his  errand. 

"Why,  then,  it  must  have  been  you,  sir,  who  fired  that 
unlucky  shot !     You  all  but  killed  my  poor  invalid." 

"Eh!  I  fired  into  the  air  !  " 

"  If  you  had  actually  hit  Madame  la  Comtesse,  you  would 
have  done  less  harm  to  her." 

"  Well,  well,  then,  we  can  neither  of  us  complain,  for  the 
sight  of  the  Countess  all  but  killed  my  friend,  M.  de  Sucy." 

"The  Baron  de  Sucy,  is  it  possible?"  cried  the  other, 
clasping  his  hands.  "  Has  he  been  in  Russia  ?  was  he  in  the 
Beresina?  " 

"Yes,"  answered  d'Albon.  He  was  taken  prisoner  by  the 
Cossacks  and  sent  to  Siberia.  He  has  not  been  back  in  this 
country  a  twelvemonth." 

"  Come  in,  monsieur,"  said  the  other,  and  he  led  the  way 
to  a  drawing-room  on  the  ground-floor.  Ever>'thing  in  the 
room  showed  signs  of  capricious  destruction. 


324  FAREWELL. 

Valuable  china  jars  lay  in  fragments  on  either  side  of  a 
clock  beneath  a  glass  shade,  which  had  escaped.  The  silk 
hangings  about  the  windows  were  torn  to  rags,  while  the 
nnuslin  curtains  were  untouched. 

"You  see  about  you  the  havoc  wrought  by  a  charming 
being  to  whom  I  have  dedicated  my  life.  She  is  my  niece  ; 
and  though  medical  science  is  powerless  in  her  case,  I  hope  to 
restore  her  to  reason,  though  the  method  which  I  am  trying 
is,  unluckily,  only  possible  to  the  wealthy." 

Then,  like  all  who  live  much  alone  and  daily  bear  the 
burden  of  a  heavy  trouble,  he  fell  to  talk  with  the  magistrate. 
This  is  the  story  that  he  told,  set  in  order,  and  with  the  many 
digressions  made  by  both  teller  and  hearer  omitted. 

When,  at  nine  o'clock  at  night,  on  the  28th  of  November, 
181 2,  Marshal  Victor  abandoned  the  heights  of  Studzianka, 
which  he  had  held  through  the  day,  he  left  a  thousand  men 
behind  with  instructions  to  protect,  till  the  last  possible  mo- 
ment, the  two  pontoon  bridges  over  the  Beresina  that  still  held 
good.  The  rearguard  was  to  save  if  possible  an  appalling 
number  of  stragglers,  so  numbed  with  the  cold  that  they  ob- 
stinately refused  to  leave  the  baggage-wagons.  The  heroism 
of  the  generous  band  was  doomed  to  fail ;  for,  unluckily,  the 
men  who  poured  down  to  the  eastern  bank  of  the  Beresina  found 
carriages,  caissons,  and  all  kinds  of  property  which  the  army 
had  been  forced  to  abandon  during  its  passage  on  the  27th 
and  28th  days  of  November.  The  poor,  half-frozen  wretches, 
sunk  almost  to  the  level  of  brutes,  finding  such  unhoped-for 
riches,  bivouacked  in  the  deserted  space,  laid  hands  on  the 
military  stores,  improvised  huts  out  of  the  material,  lighted 
fires  with  anything  that  would  burn,  cut  up  the  carcasses  of 
the  horses  for  food,  tore  out  the  linings  of  the  carriages, 
wrapped  themselves  in  them,  and  lay  down  to  sleep,  instead 
of  crossing  the  Beresina  in  peace  under  cover  of  night — the 
Beresina  that  even  then  had  proved,  by  an  incredible  fatality, 


FAREWELL.  325 

SO  disastrous  to  the  army.  Such  apathy  on  the  part  of  the 
poor  fellows  can  only  be  understood  by  those  who  remember 
tramping  across  those  vast  deserts  of  snow,  with  nothing  to 
quench  their  thirst  but  snow,  snow  for  their  bed,  snow  as  far 
as  the  horizon  on  every  side,  and  no  food  but  snow,  a  little 
frozen  beetroot,  horseflesh,  or  a  handful  of  meal. 

The  miserable  creatures  were  dropping  down,  overcome  by 
hunger,  thirst,  weariness,  and  sleep,  when  they  reached  the 
shores  of  the  Beresina  and  found  fuel  and  fire  and  victuals, 
countless  wagons  and  tents,  a  whole  improvised  town,  in 
short.  The  whole  village  of  Studzianka  had  been  removed 
piecemeal  from  the  heights  to  the  plain,  and  the  very  perils 
and  miseries  of  this  dangerous  and  doleful  habitation  smiled 
invitingly  to  the  wayfarers,  who  beheld  no  propsect  beyond  it 
but  the  awful  Russian  deserts.  A  huge  hospice,  in  short,  was 
erected  for  twenty  hours  of  existence.  Only  one  thought — 
the  thought  of  rest — appealed  to  men  weary  of  life  or  rejoic- 
ing in  unlooked-for  comfort. 

They  lay  right  in  the  line  of  fire  from  the  cannon  of  the 
Russian  left ;  but  to  that  vast  mass  of  human  creatures,  a 
patch  upon  the  snow,  sometimes  dark,  sometimes  breaking 
into  flame,  the  indefatigable  grapeshot  was  but  one  discom- 
fort the  more.  For  them  it  was  only  a  storm,  and  they  paid 
the  less  attention  to  the  bolts  that  fell  among  them  because 
there  were  none  to  strike  down  there  save  dying  men,  the 
woundfed,  or  perhaps  the  dead.  Stragglers  came  up  in  little 
bands  at  every  moment.  These  walking  corpses  instantly 
separated,  and  wandered  begging  from  fire  to  fire ;  and  meet- 
ing, for  the  most  part,  with  refusals,  banded  themselves 
together  again,  and  took  by  force  what  they  could  not  other- 
wise obtain.  They  were  deaf  to  the  voices  of  their  officers 
prophesying  death  on  the  morrow,  and  spent  the  energy  re- 
quired to  cross  the  swamp  in  building  shelters  for  the  night 
and  preparing  a  meal  that  often  proved  fatal.  The  coming 
death  no  longer  seemed  an  evil,  for  it  gave  them  an  hour  of 


326  FAREWELL. 

slumber  before  it  came.  Hunger  and  thirst  and  cold — these 
were  evils,  but  not  death. 

At  last  wood  and  fuel  and  canvas  and  shelters  failed,  and 
hideous  brawls  began  between  destitute  late-comers  and  the 
rich  already  in  possession  of  a  lodging.  The  weaker  were 
driven  away,  until  a  few  last  fugitives  before  the  Russian 
advance  were  obliged  to  make  their  bed  in  the  snow,  and  lay 
down  to  rise  no  more. 

Little  by  little  the  mass  of  half-dead  humanity  became  so 
dense,  so  deaf,  so  torpid — or  perhaps  it  should  be  said  so 
happy — that  Marshal  Victor,  their  heroic  defender  against 
twenty  thousand  Russians  under  Wittgenstein,  was  actually 
compelled  to  cut  his  way  by  force  through  this  forest  of  men, 
so  as  to  cross  the  Beresina  with  the  five  thousand  heroes 
whom  he  was  leading  to  the  Emperor.  The  miserable  crea- 
tures preferred  to  be  trampled  and  crushed  to  death  rather 
than  stir  from  their  places,  and  died  without  a  sound,  smiling 
at  the  dead  ashes  of  their  fires,  forgetful  of  France. 

Not  before  ten  o'clock  that  night  did  the  Due  de  Belluno 
reach  the  other  side  of  the  river.  Before  committing  his  men 
to  the  pontoon  bridges  that  led  to  Zembin,  he  left  the  fate  of 
the  rearguard  at  Studzianka  in  Eble's  hands,  and  to  Eble  the 
survivors  of  the  calamities  of  the  Beresina  owed  their  lives. 

About  midnight,  the  great  general,  followed  by  a  courageous 
officer,  came  out  of  his  little  hut  by  the  bridge  and  gazed  at 
the  spectacle  of  this  camp  between  the  bank  of  the  Beresina 
and  the  Borizof  road  to  Studzianka.  The  thunder  of  the 
Russian  cannonade  had  ceased.  Here  and  there  faces  that 
had  nothing  human  about  them  were  lighted  up  by  countless 
fires  that  seemed  to  grow  pale  in  the  glare  of  the  snowfields, 
and  to  give  no  light.  Nearly  thirty  thousand  wretches, 
belonging  to  every  nation  that  Napoleon  had  hurled  upon 
Russia,  lay  there  hazarding  their  lives  with  the  indifference 
of  brute  beasts. 

"We  have  all  these  to  save,"  the  general  said  to  his  sub- 


FAREWELL.  327 

ordinate.  "To-morrow  morning  the  Russians  will  be  in 
Studzianka.  The  moment  they  come  up  we  shall  have  to  set 
fire  to  the  bridge ;  so  pluck  up  heart,  my  boy !  Make  your 
way  out  and  up  yonder  through  them,  and  tell  General  Four- 
nier  that  he  has  barely  time  to  evacuate  his  post  and  cut  his 
way  through  to  the  bridge.  As  soon  as  you  have  seen 
him  set  out,  follow  him  down,  take  some  able-bodied  men, 
and  set  fire  to  the  tents,  wagons,  caissons,  carriages,  anything 
and  everything,  without  pity,  and  drive  these  fellows  on  to 
the  bridge.  Compel  everything  that  walks  on  two  legs  to 
take  refuge  on  the  other  bank.  We  must  set  fire  to  the  camp ; 
it  is  our  last  resource.     If  Berthier  had  let  me  burn  those 

d d  wagons  sooner,  no  lives  need  have  been  lost  in  the 

river  except  my  poor  pontooneers,  my  fifty  heroes,  who  saved 
the  army,  and  will  be  forgotten." 

The  general  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead  and  said  no 
more.  He  felt  that  Poland  would  be  his  tomb,  and  foresaw 
that  afterwards  no  voice  would  be  raised  to  speak  for  the  noble 
fellows  who  had  plunged  into  the  stream — into  the  waters  of 
the  Beresina  ! — to  drive  in  the  piles  for  the  bridges.  And, 
indeed,  only  one  of  them  is  living  now,  or,  to  be  more  accu- 
rate, starving,  utterly  forgotten,  in  a  country  village  !  The 
brave  officer  had  scarcely  gone  a  hundred  paces  towards  Stud- 
zianka, when  General  Ebl6  roused  some  of  his  patient  pon- 
tooneers, and  began  his  work  of  mercy  by  setting  fire  to  the 
camp  on  the  side  nearest  the  bridge,  so  compelling  the  sleep- 
ers to  rise  and  cross  the  Beresina.  Meanwhile  the  young 
aide-de-camp,  not  without  difficulty,  reached  the  one  wooden 
house  yet  left  standing  in  Studzianka. 

"So  the  box  is  pretty  full,  is  it,  messmate?"  he  said  to  a 
man  whom  he  found  outside. 

"You  will  be  a  knowing  fellow  if  you  manage  to  get  in- 
side," the  officer  returned,  without  turning  round  or  stopping 
his  occupation  of  hacking  at  the  woodwork  of  the  house  with 
his  sabre. 


328  FAREWELL. 

"  Philip,  is  that  you  ?  "  cried  the  aide-de-camp,  recognizing 
the  voice  of  one  of  his  friends. 

"Yes.  Aha!  is  it  you,  old  fellow?"  returned  M.  de 
Sucy,  looking  around  at  the  aide-de-camp,  who  like  himself 
was  not  more  than  twenty-three  years  old.  "I  fancied  you 
were  on  the  other  side  of  this  confounded  river.  Do  you 
come  to  bring  us  sweetmeats  for  dessert !  You  will  get  a  warm 
welcome,"  he  added,  as  he  tore  away  a  strip  of  bark  from  the 
wood  and  gave  it  to  his  horse  by  way  of  fodder. 

"  I  am  looking  for  your  commandant.  General  Eble  has 
sent  me  to  tell  him  to  file  off  to  Zembin.  You  have  only 
just  time  to  cut  your  way  through  that  mass  of  dead  men  ;  as 
soon  as  you  get  through,  I  am  going  to  set  fire  to  the  place  to 
make  them  move " 

"  You  almost  make  me  feel  warm  !  Your  news  has  put  me 
in  a  fever ;  I  have  two  friends  to  bring  through.  Ah !  but 
for  these  marmots,  I  should  have  been  dead  before  now,  old 
fellow.  On  their  account  I  am  taking  care  of  my  horse  in- 
stead of  eating  him.  But  have  you  a  crust  about  you,  for 
pity's  sake  ?  It  is  thirty  hours  since  I  have  stowed  any  vic- 
tuals. I  have  been  fighting  like  a  madman  to  keep  up  a  little 
warmth  in  my  body  and  what  courage  I  have  left." 

**  Poor  Philip  !  I  have  nothing — not  a  scrap  !  But  is  your 
general  in  there  ? ' ' 

"  Don't  attempt  to  go  in.  The  barn  is  full  of  our  wounded. 
Go  up  a  bit  higher,  and  you  will  see  a  sort  of  pigsty  to  the 
right — that  is  where  the  general  is.  Good-bye,  my  dear 
fellow.  If  ever  we  meet  again  in  a  quadrille  in  a  ballroom  in 
Paris " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  for  the  treachery  of  the 
northeast  wind  that  whistled  about  them  froze  Major  Philips' 
lips,  and  the  aide-de-camp  kept  moving  for  fear  of  being  frost- 
bitten. Silence  soon  prevailed,  scarcely  broken  by  the  groans 
of  the  wounded  in  the  barn,  or  the  stifled  sounils  made  by 
M.  de  Sucy's  horse  crunching  the  frozen  bark  with  famished 


FAREWELL.  329 

eagerness.  Philip  thrust  his  sabre  into  the  sheath,  caught  at 
the  bridle  of  the  precious  animal  that  he  had  managed  to 
keep  for  so  long,  and  drew  her  away  from  the  miserable  fod- 
der that  she  was  bolting  with  apparent  relish. 

"  Come  along,  Bichette  !  come  along !  It  lies  with  you 
now,  my  beauty,  to  save  Stephanie's  life.  There,  wait  a  little 
longer,  and  they  will  let  us  lie  down  and  die,  no  doubt ; " 
and  Philip,  wrapped  in  a  pelisse,  to  which  doubtless  he  owed 
his  life  and  energies,  began  to  run,  stamping  his  feet  on  the 
frozen  snow  to  keep  them  warm.  He  was  scarcely  five  hundred 
paces  away  before  he  saw  a  great  fire  blazing  on  the  spot  where 
he  had  left  his  carriage  that  morning  with  an  old  soldier  to 
guard  it.  A  dreadful  misgiving  seized  upon  him.  Many  a 
man  under  the  influence  of  a  powerful  feeling  during  the 
Retreat  summoned  up  energy  for  his  friend's  sake  when  he 
would  not  have  exerted  himself  to  save  his  own  life ;  so  it  was 
with  Philip.  He  soon  neared  a  hollow,  where  he  had  left  a 
carriage  sheltered  from  the  cannonade,  a  carriage  that  held  a 
young  woman,  his  playmate  in  childhood,  dearer  to  him  than 
any  one  else  on  earth. 

Some  thirty  stragglers  were  sitting  round  a  tremendous 
blaze,  which  they  kept  up  with  logs  of  wood,  planks,  wrenched 
from  the  floors  of  the  caissons,  and  wheels,  and  panels,  from 
carriage  bodies.  These  had  been,  doubtless,  among  the  last 
to  join  the  sea  of  fires,  huts,  and  human  faces  that  filled  the 
great  furrow  in  the  land  between  Studzianka  and  the  fatal 
river,  a  restless  living  sea  of  almost  imperceptibly  moving  fig- 
ures, that  sent  up  a  smothered  hum  of  sound  blended  with 
frightful  shrieks.  It  seemed  that  hunger  and  despair  had 
driven  these  forlorn  creatures  to  take  forcible  possession  of 
the  carriage,  for  the  old  general  and  his  young  wife,  whom 
they  had  found  warmly  wrapped  in  pelisses  and  traveling 
cloaks,  were  now  crouching  on  the  earth  beside  the  fire,  and 
one  of  the  carriage  doors  was  broken. 

As  soon  as  the  group  of  stragglers  round  the  fire  heard  the 


330  FARE  WELL. 

footfall  of  the  major's  horse,  a  frenzied  yell  of  hunger  went  up 
from  them.     "  A  horse  !  "  they  cried.     "  A  horse  !  " 

All  the  voices  went  up  as  one  voice. 

**  Back  !  back  !  Lookout !  "  shouted  two  or  three  of  them, 
leveling  their  muskets  at  the  animal. 

"  I  will  pitch  you  neck  and  crop  into  your  fire,  you  black- 
guards !  "  cried  Philip  springing  in  front  of  the  mare.  "  There 
are  dead  horses  lying  up  yonder;  go  and  look  for  them  !  " 

**  What  a  rum  customer  the  officer  is !  Once,  twice,  will 
you  get  out  of  the  way  ?  "  returned  a  giant  grenadier.  "  You 
won't?    All  right  then,  just  as  you  please." 

A  woman's  shriek  rang  out  above  the  report.  Luckily, 
none  of  the  bullets  hit  Philip ;  but  poor  Bichette  lay  in  the 
agony  of  death.  Three  of  the  men  came  up  and  put  an  end 
to  her  with  thrusts  of  the  bayonet. 

'*  Cannibals  !  leave  me  the  rug  and  my  pistols,"  cried 
Philip  in  desperation. 

"  Oh  !  the  pistols  if  you  like  ;  but  as  for  the  rug,  there  is  a 
fellow  yonder  who  has  had  nothing  to  wet  his  whistle  these 
two  days,  and  is  shivering  in  his  coat  of  cobwebs,  and  that's 
our  general." 

Philip  looked  up  and  saw  a  man  with  worn-out  shoes  and  a 
dozen  rents  in  his  trousers ;  the  only  covering  for  his  head 
was  a  ragged  foraging  cap,  white  with  rime.  He  said  no 
more  after  that,  but  snatched  up  his  pistols. 

Five  of  the  men  dragged  the  mare  to  the  fire,  and  began  to 
cut  up  the  carcass  as  dexterously  as  any  journeymen  butchers 
in  Paris.  The  scraps  of  meat  were  distributed  and  flung  upon 
the  coals,  and  the  whole  process  was  magically  swift.  Philip 
went  over  to  the  woman  who  had  given  the  cry  of  terror  when 
she  recognized  his  danger,  and  sat  down  by  her  side.  She 
sat  motionless  upon  a  cushion  taken  from  the  carriage,  warm- 
ing herself  at  the  blaze ;  she  said  no  word,  and  gazed  at  him 
without  a  smile.  He  saw  beside  her  the  soldier  whom  he  had 
left  mounting  guard  over  the  carriage ;  the  poor  fellow  had 


FAREWELL.  331 

been  wounded  ;  he  had  been  overpowered  by  numbers,  and 
forced  to  surrender  to  the  stragglers  who  had  set  upon  him, 
and,  like  a  dog  who  defends  his  master's  dinner  till  the  last 
moment,  he  had  taken  his  share  of  the  spoil,  and  had  made 
a  sort  of  cloak  for  himself  out  of  a  sheet.  At  that  particular 
moment  he  was  busy  toasting  a  piece  of  horseflesh,  and  in  his 
face  the  major  saw  a  gleeful  anticipation  of  the  coming  feast. 

The  Comte  de  Vandieres,  who  seemed  to  have  grown  quite 
childish  in  the  last  few  days,  sat  on  a  cushion  close  to  his 
wife,  and  stared  into  the  fire.  He  was  only  just  beginning 
to  shake  off  his  torpor  under  the  influence  of  the  warmth. 
He  had  been  no  more  affected  by  Philip's  arrival  and  danger 
than  by  the  fight  and  subsequent  pillage  of  his  traveling  car- 
riage. 

At  first  Sucy  caught  the  young  Countess'  hand  in  his,  trying 
to  express  his  affection  for  her,  and  the  pain  that  it  gave  him 
to  see  her  reduced  like  this  to  the  last  extremity  of  misery ; 
but  he  said  nothing  as  he  sat  by  her  side  on  the  thawing  heap 
of  snow,  he  gave  himself  up  to  the  pleasure  of  the  sensation  of 
warmth,  forgetful  of  danger,  forgetful  of  all  things  else  in  the 
world.  In  spite  of  himself  his  face  expanded  with  an  almost 
fatuous  expression  of  satisfaction,  and  he  waited  impatiently 
till  the  scrap  of  horseflesh  that  had  fallen  to  his  soldier's 
share  should  be  cooked.  The  smell  of  the  charred  flesh  stim- 
ulated his  hunger.  Hunger  clamored  within  him  and  silenced 
his  heart,  his  courage,  and  his  love.  He  coolly  looked  round 
on  the  results  of  the  spoliation  of  his  carriage.  Not  a  man 
seated  round  the  fire  but  had  shared  the  booty,  the  rugs, 
cushions,  pelisses,  dresses — articles  of  clothing  that  belonged 
to  the  Count  and  Countess  or  to  himself.  Philip  turned  to 
see  if  anything  worth  taking  was  left  in  the  berline.  He 
saw  by  the  light  of  the  flames,  gold,  and  diamonds,  and 
silver  lying  scattered  about ;  no  one  had  cared  to  appro- 
priate the  least  particle.  There  was  something  hideous  in 
the  silence   among  those    human  creatures    round   the  fire; 


332  FAREWELL. 

none  of  them  spoke,  none  of  them  stirred,  save  to  do  such 
things  as  each  considered  necessary  for  his  own  comfort. 

It  was  a  grotesque  misery.  The  men's  faces  were  warped 
and  disfigured  with  the  cold,  and  plastered  over  with  a 
layer  of  mud  ;  you  could  see  the  thickness  of  the  mask  by 
the  channel  traced  down  their  cheeks  by  the  tears  that  ran 
from  their  eyes,  and  their  long  slovenly-kept  beards  added 
to  the  hideousness  of  their  appearance.  Some  were  wrapped 
round  in  women's  shawls,  others  in  horse-cloths,  dirty 
blankets,  rags  stiffened  with  melting  hoar-frost;  here  and 
there  a  man  wore  a  boot  on  one  foot  and  a  shoe  on  the 
other ;  in  fact,  there  was  not  one  of  them  but  wore  some 
ludicrously  odd  costume.  But  the  men  themselves  with  such 
matter  for  jest  about  them  were  gloomy  and  taciturn. 

The  silence  was  unbroken  save  by  the  crackling  of  the 
wood,  the  roaring  of  the  flames,  the  far-off  hum  of  the  camp, 
and  the  sound  of  sabres  hacking  at  the  carcass  of  the  mare. 
Some  of  the  hungriest  of  the  men  were  still  cutting  tit-bits 
for  themselves.  A  few  miserable  creatures,  more  weary  than 
the  others,  slept  outright ;  and  if  they  happened  to  roll  into 
the  fire,  no  one  pulled  them  back.  With  cut-and-dried  logic 
their  fellows  argued  that  if  they  were  not  dead,  a  scorching 
ought  to  be  sufficient  warning  to  quit  and  seek  out  more  com- 
fortable quarters.  If  the  poor  wretch  woke  to  find  himself  on 
fire,  he  was  burned  to  death,  and  nobody  pitied  him.  Here 
and  there  the  men  exchanged  glances,  as  if  to  excuse  their 
indifference  by  the  carelessness  of  the  rest ;  the  thing  haj> 
pened  twice  under  the  young  Countess'  eyes,  and  she  uttered 
no  sound.  When  all  the  scraps  of  horseflesh  had  been 
broiled  upon  the  coals,  they  were  devoured  wiih  a  ravenous 
greediness  that  would  have  been  disgusting  in  wild  beasts. 

"And  now  we  have  seen  thirty  infantry-men  on  one  horse 
for  the  first  time  in  our  lives  !  '  cried  the  grenadier  who  had 
shot  the  mare,  the  one  solitary  joke  that  sustained  the  French- 
man's reputation  for  wit. 


FAREWELL.  333 

Before  long  the  poor  fellows  huddled  themselves  up  in  their 
clothes,  and  lay  down  on  planks  of  timber,  on  anything  but 
the  bare  snow,  and  slept — heedless  of  the  morrow.  Major  de 
Sucy  having  warmed  himself  and  satisfied  his  hunger,  fought 
in  vain  against  the  drowsiness  that  weighed  upon  his  eyes. 
During  this  brief  struggle  he  gazed  at  the  sleeping  girl  who 
had  turned  her  face  to  the  fire,  so  that  he  could  see  her  closed 
eyelids  and  part  of  her  forehead.  She  was  wrapped  round  in 
a  furred  pelisse  and  a  coarse  horseman's  cloak,  her  head  lay  on 
a  blood-stained  cushion  ;  a  tall  astrakhan  cap  tied  over  her 
head  by  a  handkerchief  knotted  under  the  chin  protected  her 
face  as  much  as  possible  from  the  cold,  and  she  had  tucked  up 
her  feet  in  the  cloak.  As  she  lay  curled  up  in  this  fashion,  she 
bore  no  likeness  to  any  creature. 

Was  this  the  lowest  of  camp-followers?  Was  this  the 
charming  woman,  the  pride  of  her  lover's  heart,  the  queen  of 
many  a  Parisian  ballroom  ?  Alas  !  even  for  the  eyes  of  this 
most  devoted  friend,  there  was  no  discernible  trace  of  woman- 
hood in  that  bundle  of  rags  and  linen,  and  the  cold  was 
mightier  than  the  love  in  a  woman's  heart. 

Then  for  the  major  the  husband  and  wife  came  to  be  like 
two  distant  dots  seen  through  the  thick  veil  that  the  most 
irresistible  kind  of  slumber  spread  over  his  eyes.  It  all 
seemed  to  be  part  of  a  dream — the  leaping  flames,  the  recum- 
bent figures,  the  awful  cold  that  lay  in  wait  for  them  three 
paces  away  from  the  warmth  of  the  fire  that  glowed  for  a 
little  while.  One  thought  that  could  not  be  stifled  haunted 
Philip — "  If  I  go  to  sleep,  we  shall  all  die;  I  will  not  sleep," 
he  said  to  himself. 

He  slept.  After  an  hour's  slumber  M.  de  Sucy  was  awak- 
ened by  a  hideous  uproar  and  the  sound  of  an  explosion.  The 
remembrances  of  his  duty,  of  the  danger  of  his  beloved, 
rushed  upon  his  mind  with  a  sudden  shock.  He  uttered  a 
cry  like  the  growl  of  a  wild  beast.  He  and  his  servant  stood 
upright  above  the  rest.     They  saw  a  sea  of  fire  in  the  dark- 


334  FAREWELL. 

ness,  and  against  it  moving  masses  of  human  figures.  Flames 
were  devouring  the  huts  and  tents.  Despairing  shrieks  and 
yelling  cries  reached  their  ears ;  they  saw  thousands  upon 
thousands  of  wild  and  desperate  faces ;  and  through  this 
inferno  a  column  of  soldiers  was  cutting  its  way  to  the  bridge, 
between  two  hedges  of  dead  bodies. 

"  Our  rearguard  is  in  full  retreat,"  cried  the  major.  "  There 
is  no  hope  left !  " 

"I  have  spared  your  traveling  carriage,  Philip,"  said  a 
friendly  voice. 

Sucy  turned  and  saw  the  young  aide-de-camp  by  the  light 
of  the  flames. 

"Oh,  it  is  all  over  with  us,"  he  answered.  "They  have 
eaten  my  horse.  And  how  am  I  to  make  this  sleepy  general 
and  his  wife  stir  a  step?  " 

"  Take  a  brand,  Philip,  and  threaten  them." 

"Threaten  the  Countess? " 

"Good-bye,"  cried  the  aide-de-camp;  "I  have  only  just 
time  to  get  across  that  unlucky  river,  and  go  I  must,  there  is 

my  mother  in  France  ! What  a  night !     This  herd  of 

wretches  would  rather  lie  here  in  the  snow,  and  most  of  them 

would  sooner  be  buried  alive  than  get  up It  is  four  o'clock, 

Philip  !  In  two  hours  the  Russians  will  begin  to  move,  and 
you  will  see  the  Beresina  covered  with  corpses  a  second  time, 
I  can  tell  you.  You  haven't  a  horse,  and  you  cannot  carry 
the  Countess,  so  come  along  with  me,"  he  went  on,  taking 
his  friend  by  the  arm. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  how  am  I  to  leave  Stephanie  !  " 

Major  de  Sucy  grasped  the  Countess,  set  her  on  her  feet, 
and  shook  her  roughly ;  he  was  in  despair.  He  compelled 
her  to  wake,  and  she  started  at  him  with  dull  fixed  eyes. 

"  Stephanie,  we  must  go,  or  we  shall  die  here  !  " 

For  all  answer  the  Countess  tried  to  sink  down  again  and 
sleep  on  the  earth.  The  aide-de-camp  snatched  a  brand  from 
the  fire  and  shook  it  in  her  face. 


FAREWELL.  335 

"We  must  save  her  in  spite  of  herself,"  cried  Philip,  and 
he  carried  her  in  his  arms  to  the  carriage.  He  came  back  to 
entreat  his  friend  to  help  him,  and  the  two  young  men  took 
the  old  general  and  put  him  beside  his  wife,  without  knowing 
whether  he  were  alive  or  dead.  The  major  rolled  the  men 
over  as  they  crouched  on  the  earth,  took  away  the  plundered 
clothing,  and  heaped  it  upon  the  husband  and  wife,  then  he 
flung  some  of  the  broiled  fragments  of  horseflesh  into  a 
corner  of  the  carriage. 

"Now,  what  do  you  mean  to  do?"  asked  his  friend,  the 
aide-de-camp. 

"  Drag  them  along!  "  answered  Sucy. 

' '  You  are  mad  !  "  ' 

"You  are  right!"  exclaimed  Philip,  folding  his  arms  on 
his  breast. 

Suddenly  a  desperate  plan  occurred  to  him. 

"  Look  you  here!  "  he  said,  grasping  his  sentinel  by  the 
unwounded  arm,  "I  leave  her  in  your  care  for  one  hour.  Bear 
in  mind  that  you  must  die  sooner  than  let  any  one,  no  matter 
whom,  come  near  the  carriage  !  " 

The  major  seized  a  handful  of  the  lady's  diamonds,  drew  his 
sabre,  and  violently  battered  those  who  seemed  to  him  to  be  the 
bravest  among  the  sleepers.  By  this  means  he  succeeded  in 
rousing  the  gigantic  grenadier  and  a  couple  of  men  whose 
rank  and  regiment  were  undiscoverable. 

"It  is  all  up  with  us  !  "  he  cried. 

"Of  course  it  is,"  returned  the  grenadier;  but  that  is  all 
one  to  me." 

"Very  well  then,  if  die  you  must,  isn't  it  better  to  sell 
your  life  for  a  pretty  woman,  and  stand  a  chance  of  going 
back  to  France  again  ? ' ' 

"  I  would  rather  go  to  sleep,"  said  one  of  the  men,  drop- 
ping down  into  the  snow ;  "  and  if  you  worry  me  again,  major, 
I  shall  stick  my  toasting-iron  into  your  belly  !  " 

"What  is  it  all  about,  sir?"  asked  the  grenadier.     "The 


836  FAREWELL. 

man's  drunk.  He  is  a  Parisian,  and  likes  to  lie  in  the  lap  of 
luxury." 

"  You  shall  have  these,  good  fellow,"  said  the  major,  hold- 
ing out  a  riviere  of  diamonds,  "  if  you  will  follow  me  and 
fight  like  a  madman.  The  Russians  are  not  ten  minutes  away; 
they  have  horses ;  we  will  march  up  to  the  nearest  battery 
and  carry  off  two  stout  ones." 

"  How  about  the  sentinels,  major?  " 

**  One  of  us  three-" "  he  began  ;  then  he  turned  from  the 

soldier  and  looked  at  the  aide-de-camp.  "  You  are  coming, 
aren't  you,  Hippolyte?" 

Hippolyte  nodded  assent. 

"One  of  us,"  the  major  went  on,  "will  look  after  the 
sentry.  Besides,  perhaps  those  blessed  Russians  are  also  fast 
asleep." 

**  All  right,  major ;  you  are  a  good  sort !  But  will  you  take 
me  in  your  carriage?"  asked  the  grenadier. 

**  Yes,  if  you  don't  leave  your  bones  up  yonder.  If  I  come 
to  grief,  promise  me,  you  two,  that  you  will  do  everything  in 
your  power  to  save  the  Countess." 

"All  right,"  said  the  grenadier. 

They  set  out  for  the  Russian  lines,  taking  the  direction  of 
the  batteries  that  had  so  cruelly  raked  the  mass  of  miserable 
creatures  huddled  together  by  the  river  bank.  A  few  minutes 
later  the  hoof  of  two  galloping  horses  rang  on  the  frozen 
snow,  and  the  awakened  battery  fired  a  volley  that  passed 
over  the  heads  of  the  sleepers ;  the  hoof-beats  rattled  so  fast 
on  the  iron  ground  that  they  sounded  like  the  hammering  in 
a  smithy.  The  generous  aide-de-camp  had  fallen  ;  the  stalwart 
grenadier  had  come  off  safe  and  sound ;  and  Pliilip  himself 
had  received  a  bayonet  thrust  in  the  shoulder  while  defending 
his  friend.  Notwithstanding  his  wound,  he  clung  to  his  horse's 
mane,  and  gripped  him  with  his  knees  so  tightly  that  the 
animal  was  held  as  in  a  vice. 

**  God  be  praised!"   cried   the   major,  when   he  saw  his 


FAREWELL.  337 

soldier  still  on  the  spot,  and  the  carriage  standing  where  he 
had  left  it. 

*'  If  you  do  the  right  thing  by  me,  sir,  you  will  get  me  the 
cross  for  this.  We  have  treated  them  to  a  sword  dance  to  a 
pretty  tune  from  the  rifle,  eh?  " 

"  We  have  done  nothing  yet !  Let  us  put  the  horses  in. 
Take  hold  of  these  cords." 

**  They  are  not  long  enough." 

"  All  right,  grenadier,  just  go  and  overhaul  those  fellows 
sleeping  there  ;  take  their  shawls,  sheets,  anything " 

"I  say!  the  rascal  is  dead,"  cried  the  grenadier,  as  he 
plundered  the  first  man  who  came  to  hand.  **  Why,  they  are 
all  dead  !  how  queer !  " 

"All  of  them?" 

**  Yes,  every  one.  It  looks  as  though  horseflesh  a  la  neige 
was  indigestible." 

Philip  shuddered  at  the  words.  The  night  had  grown 
twice  as  cold  as  before. 

''  Great  heaven  !  to  lose  her  when  I  have  saved  her  life  a 
score  of  times  already." 

He  shook  the  Countess.  "Stephanie!  Stephanie!"  he 
cried. 

She  opened  her  eyes. 

"  We  are  saved,  madame  !  " 

"  Saved  !  "  she  echoed,  and  fell  back  again. 

The  horses  were  harnessed  after  a  fashion  at  last.  The 
major  held  his  sabre  in  his  unwounded  hand,  took  the  reins 
in  the  other,  saw  to  his  pistols,  and  sprang  on  one  of  the 
horses,  while  the  grenadier  mounted  the  other.  The  old  sen- 
tinel had  been  pushed  into  the  carriage,  and  lay  across  the 
knees  of  the  general  and  the  Countess ;  his  feet  were  frozen. 
Urged  on  by  blows  from  the  flat  of  the  sabre,  the  horses 
dragged  the  carriage  at  a  mad  gallop  down  to  the  plain, 
where  endless  difficulties  awaited  them.  Before  long  it  became 
almost  impossible  to  advance  without  crushing  sleeping  men, 
22 


388  FAREWELL. 

women,  and  even  children  at  every  step,  all  of  whom  declined 
to  stir  when  the  grenadier  awakened  them.  In  vain  M.  de 
Sucy  looked  for  the  track  that  the  rearguard  had  cut  through 
this  dense  crowd  of  human  beings ;  there  was  no  more  sign 
of  their  passage  than  of  the  wake  of  a  ship  in  the  sea.  The 
horses  could  only  move  at  a  foot-pace,  and  were  stopped  most 
frequently  by  soldiers,  who  threatened  to  kill  them. 

**  Do  you  mean  to  get  there  ?  "  asked  the  grenadier. 

**Yes,  if  it  costs  every  drop  of  blood  in  my  body!  if  it 
costs  the  whole  world  !  "  the  major  answered. 

"  Forward,  then  ! You  can't  have  the  omelette  without 

breaking  eggs."  And  the  grenadier  of  the  Garde  urged  on 
the  horses  over  the  prostrate  bodies  and  upset  the  bivouacs ; 
the  blood-stained  wheels  ploughing  that  field  of  faces  left  a 
double  furrow  of  dead.  But  in  justice  it  should  be  said  that 
he  never  ceased  to  thunder  out  his  warning  cry,  "Carrion! 
lookout!" 

"  Poor  wretches  !  "  exclaimed  the  major. 

"  Bah  !  That  way,  or  the  cold,  or  the  cannon  !  "  said  the 
grenadier,  goading  on  the  horses  with  the  point  of  his  sword. 

Then  came  the  catastrophe,  which  must  have  happened 
sooner  but  for  miraculous  good  fortune;  the  carriage  was 
overturned,  and  all  further  progress  was  stopped  at  once. 

"  I  expected  as  much  !  "  exclaimed  the  imperturable  grena- 
dier.   **  Oho  !  he  is  dead  !  "  he  added,  looking  at  his  comrade. 

"  Poor  Laurent !  "  said  the  major. 

"  Laurent !     Wasn't  he  in  the  Fifth  Chasseurs? " 

"Yes." 

**  My  own  cousin.  Pshaw !  this  beastly  life  is  not  so 
pleasant  that  one  need  be  sorry  for  him  as  things  go." 

But  all  this  time  the  carriage  lay  overturned,  and  the  horses 
were  only  released  after  great  and  irreparable  loss  of  time. 
The  shock  had  been  so  violent  that  the  Countess  had  been 
awakened  by  it,  and  the  subsequent  commotion  aroused  her 
from  her  stupor.     She  shook  off  the  rugs  and  rose. 


FAREWELL.  339 

"  Where  are  we,  Philip?"  she  asked  in  musical  tones,  as 
she  looked  about  her. 

"About  five  hundred  paces  from  the  bridge.  We  are  just 
about  to  cross  the  Beresina,  When  we  are  on  the  other  side, 
Stephanie,  I  will  not  tease  you  any  more ;  I  will  let  you  go  to 
sleep ;  we  shall  be  in  safety,  we  can  go  on  to  Wilna  in  peace. 
God  grant  that  you  may  never  know  what  your  life  has  cost !  " 

**  You  are  wounded  !  " 

"A  mere  trifle." 

The  hour  of  doom  had  come.  The  Russian  cannon  an- 
nounced the  day.  The  Russians  were  in  possession  of  Stud- 
zianka,  and  thence  were  raking  the  plain  with  grapeshot ;  and 
by  the  first  dim  light  of  the  dawn  the  major  saw  two  columns 
moving  and  forming  above  on  the  heights.  Then  a  cry  of 
horror  went  up  from  the  crowd,  and  in  a  moment  every  one 
sprang  to  his  feet.  Each  instinctively  felt  his  danger,  and  all 
made  a  rush  for  the  bridge,  surging  toward  it  like  a  wave. 

Then  the  Russians  came  down  upon  them,  swift  as  a  con- 
flagration. Men,  women,  children,  and  horses  all  crowded 
towards  the  river.  Luckily  for  the  major  and  the  Countess, 
they  were  still  at  some  distance  from  the  bank.  General  Ebl6 
had  just  set  fire  to  the  bridge  on  the  other  side ;  but  in  spite 
of  all  the  warnings  given  to  those  who  rushed  towards  the 
chance  of  salvation,  not  one  among  them  could  or  would 
draw  back.  The  overladen  bridge  gave  way,  and  not  only  so, 
the  impetus  of  the  frantic  living  wave  towards  that  fatal  bank 
was  such  that  a  dense  crowd  of  human  beings  was  thrust  into 
the  water  as  if  by  an  avalance.  The  sound  of  a  single  human 
cry  could  not  be  distinguished  ;  there  was  a  dull  crash  as  if  an 
enormous  stone  had  fallen  into  the  water,  and  the  Beresina 
was  covered  with  corpses. 

The  violent  recoil  of  those  in  front,  striving  to  escape  this 
death,  brought  them  into  hideous  collision  with  those  behind 
them,  who  were  pressing  towards  the  bank,  and  many  were 
suffocated  and  crushed.     The  Comte  and  Comtesse  de  Van- 


340  FAREWELL. 

dieres  owed  their  lives  to  the  carriage.  The  horses  that  had 
trampled  and  crushed  so  many  dying  men  were  crushed  and 
trampled  to  death  in  their  turn  by  the  human  maelstrom 
which  eddied  from  the  bank.  Sheer  physical  strength  saved 
the  major  and  the  grenadier.  They  killed  others  in  self- 
defense.  That  wild  sea  of  human  faces  and  living  bodies, 
surging  to  and  fro  as  by  one  impulse,  left  the  bank  of  the 
Beresina  clear  for  a  few  moments.  The  multitude  had  hurled 
themselves  back  on  the  plain.  Some  few  men  sprang  down 
from  the  banks  towards  the  river,  not  so  much  with  any  hope 
of  reaching  the  opposite  shore,  which  for  them  meant  France, 
as  from  dread  of  the  wastes  of  Siberia.  For  some  bold  spirits 
despair  became  a  panoply.  An  officer  leaped  from  hummock 
to  hummock  of  ice,  and  reached  the  other  shore  ;  one  of  the 
soldiers  scrambled  over  miraculously  on  the  piles  of  dead 
bodies  and  drift  ice.  But  the  immense  multitude  left  behind 
saw  at  last  that  the  Russians  would  not  slaughter  twenty  thou- 
sand unarmed  men,  too  numb  with  the  cold  to  attempt  to 
resist  them,  and  each  awaited  his  fate  with  dreadful  apathy. 
By  this  time  the  major  and  his  grenadier,  the  old  general  and 
his  wife  were  left  to  themselves  not  very  far  from  the  place 
•where  the  bridge  had  been.  All  four  stood  dry-eyed  and 
silent  among  the  heaps  of  dead.  A  few  able-bodied  men  and 
one  or  two  officers,  who  had  recovered  all  their  energies  at 
this  crisis,  gathered  about  them.  The  group  was  sufficiently 
large ;  there  were  about  fifty  men  all  told.  A  couple  of  hun- 
dred paces  from  them  stood  the  wreck  of  the  artillery  bridge, 
which  had  broken  down  the  day  before;  the  major  saw  this, 
and  "  Let  us  make  a  raft !  "  he  cried. 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth  before  the  whole 
group  hurried  to  the  ruins  of  the  bridge.  A  crowd  of  men 
began  to  pick  up  iron  clamps  and  to  hunt  for  planks  and  ropes 
— for  all  the  materials  for  a  raft,  in  short.  A  score  of  armed 
men  and  officers,  under  command  of  the  major,  stood  on 
guard  to  protect  the  workers  from  any  desperate  attempt  on 


FAREWELL.  341 

the  part  of  the  multitude  if  they  should  guess  their  design. 
The  longing  for  freedom,  which  inspires  prisoners  to  accom- 
plish impossibilities,  cannot  be  compared  with  the  hope  which 
lent  energy  at  that  moment  to  these  forlorn  Frenchmen. 

"The  Russians  are  upon  us!  Here  are  the  Russians!" 
the  guard  shouted  to  the  workers. 

The  timbers  creaked,  the  raft  grew  larger,  stronger,  and 
more  substantial.  Generals,  colonels,  and  common  soldiers  all 
alike  bent  beneath  the  weight  of  wagon-wheels,  chains,  coils 
of  rope,  and  planks  of  timber  \  it  was  a  modern  realization  of 
the  building  of  Noah's  ark.  The  young  Countess,  sitting  by 
her  husband's  side,  looked  on,  regretful  that  she  could  do 
nothing  to  aid  the  workers,  though  she  helped  to  knot  the 
lengths  of  rope  together. 

At  last  the  raft  was  finished.  Forty  men  launched  it  out 
into  the  river,  while  ten  of  the  soldiers  held  the  ropes  that 
must  keep  it  moored  to  the  shore.  The  moment  that  they 
saw  their  handiwork  floating  on  the  Beresina,  they  sprang 
down  on  to  it  from  the  bank  with  callous  selfishness.  The 
major,  dreading  the  frenzy  of  the  first  rush,  held  back  Ste- 
phanie and  the  general  \  but  a  shudder  ran  through  him  when 
he  saw  the  landing  place  black  with  people,  and  men  crowd- 
ing down  like  play-goers  into  the  pit  of  a  theatre. 

"  It  was  I  who  thought  of  the  raft,  you  savages  1  "  he  cried. 
"I  have  saved  your  lives,  and  you  will  not  make  room  for  me  !  " 

A  confused  murmur  was  the  only  answer.  The  men  at  the 
edge  took  up  stout  poles,  thrust  them  against  the  bank  with 
all  their  might,  so  as  to  shove  the  raft  out  and  gain  an  impetus 
at  its  starting  upon  a  journey  across  a  sea  of  floating  ice  and 
dead  bodies  towards  the  other  shore. 

^'Tonnerre  de  Dieu .'  I  will  knock  some  of  you  off"  into 
the  water  if  you  don't  make  room  for  the  major  and  his  two 
companions,"  shouted  the  grenadier.  He  raised  his  sabre 
threateningly,  delayed  the  departure,  and  made  the  men  stand 
closer  together,  in  spite  of  threatening  yells. 


342  FAREWELL. 

"I   shall   fall   in! I  shall  go  overboard! "    the 

fellows  shouted. 

"Let  us  start!     Put  off!  " 

The  major  gazed  with  tearless  eyes  at  the  woman  he  loved  j 
an  impulse  of  sublime  resignation  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven. 

"  To  die  with  you!  "  she  said. 

In  the  situation  of  the  folk  upon  the  raft  there  was  a  certain 
comic  element.  They  might  utter  hideous  yells,  but  not  one 
of  them  dared  to  oppose  the  grenadier,  for  they  were  packed 
together  so  tightly  that  if  one  man  were  knocked  down,  the 
whole  raft  might  capsize.  At  this  delicate  crisis,  a  captain 
tried  to  rid  himself  of  one  of  his  neighbors ;  the  man  saw  the 
hostile  intention  of  his  officer,  collared  him,  and  pitched  him 

overboard.     "Aha!      The  duck   has  a  mind   to  drink 

Over  with  you !  There  is  room  for  two  now  !  "  he  shouted. 
*'  Quick,  major  !  throw  your  little  woman  over,  and  come ! 
Never  mind  that  old  dotard  ;  he  will  drop  off  to-morrow  !  " 

"  Be  quick  !  "  cried  a  voice,  made  up  of  a  hundred  voices. 

"  Come,  major !  Those  fellows  are  making  a  fuss,  and 
well  they  may!  " 

The  Comte  de  Vandi^res  flung  off  his  ragged  blankets,  and 
stood  before  them  in  his  general's  uniform. 

"  Let  us  save  the  Count,"  said  Philip. 

Stephanie  grasped  his  hand  tightly  in  hers,  flung  her  arms 
about,  and  clasped  him  close  in  an  agonized  embrace. 

"  Farewell !  "  she  said. 

Then  each  knew  the  other's  thoughts.  The  Comte  de 
Vandidres  recovered  his  energies  and  presence  of  mind  suffi- 
ciently to  jump  on  to  the  raft,  whither  Stephanie  followed 
him  after  one  last  look  at  Philip. 

"  Major,  won't  you  take  my  place  ?  I  do  not  care  a  straw 
for  life ;  I  have  neither  wife,  nor  child,  nor  mother  belonging 
to  me " 

"  I  give  them  into  your  charge,"  cried  the  major,  indicat- 
ing the  Count  and  his  wife. 


FAREWELL.  343 

**  Be  easy ;  I  will  take  as  much  care  of  them  as  of  the  apple 
of  my  eye." 

Philip  stood  stock-still  on  the  bank.  The  raft  sped  so 
violently  towards  the  opposite  shore  that  it  ran  aground  with 
a  violent  shock  to  all  on  board.  The  Count,  standing  on  the 
very  edge,  was  shaken  into  the  stream  ;  and  as  he  fell,  a  mass 
of  ice  swept  by  and  struck  off  his  head,  and  sent  it  flying  like 
a  ball. 

*'  Hey  !  major  !  "  shouted  the  grenadier. 

'*  Farewell !  "  a  woman's  voice  called  aloud. 

An  icy  shiver  of  dread  ran  through  Philip  de  Sucy,  and  he 
dropped  down  where  he  stood,  overcome  with  cold  and  sorrow 
and  weariness. 

"  My  poor  niece  went  out  of  her  mind,"  the  doctor  added 
after  a  brief  pause.  "Ah  !  monsieur,"  he  went  on,  grasping 
M.  d'Albon's  hand,  "what  a  fearful  life  for  the  poor  little 
thing,  so  young,  so  delicate  !  An  unheard-of  misfortune 
separated  her  from  that  grenadier  of  the  Garde  (Fleuriot  by 
name),  and  for  two  years  she  was  dragged  on  after  the  army, 
the  laughing-stock  of  a  rabble  of  outcasts.  She  went  barefoot, 
I  heard,  ill-clad,  neglected,  and  starved  for  months  at  a  time; 
sometimes  confined  in  a  hospital,  sometimes  living  like  a 
hunted  animal.  God  alone  knows  all  the  misery  which  she 
endured,  and  yet  she  lives.  She  was  shut  up  in  a  mad-house 
in  a  little  German  town,  while  her  relations,  believing  her  to 
be  dead,  were  dividing  her  property  here  in  France. 

"In  1816  the  grenadier  Fleuriot  recognized  her  in  an  inn 
in  Strasbourg.  She  had  just  managed  to  escape  from  cap. 
tivity.  Some  peasants  told  him  that  the  Countess  had  lived 
for  a  whole  month  in  a  forest,  and  how  that  they  had  tracked 
her  and  tried  to  catch  her  without  success. 

"  I  was  at  that  time  not  many  leagues  from  Strasbourg;  and 
hearing  the  talk  about  this  girl  in  the  woods,  I  wished  to  verify 
the  strange  facts  that  had  given  rise  to  absurd  stories.     What 


344  FAREWELL. 

was  my  feeling  when  I  beheld  the  Countess  ?  Fleuriot  told 
me  all  that  he  knew  of  the  piteous  story.  I  took  the  poor 
fellow  with  my  niece  into  Auvergne,  and  there  I  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  lose  him.  He  had  some  ascendency  over  Mme.  de 
Vandieres.  He  alone  succeeded  in  persuading  her  to  wear 
clothes ;  and  in  those  days  her  one  word  of  human  speech — 
Farewell — she  seldom  uttered.  Fleuriot  set  himself  to  the 
task  of  awakening  certain  associations;  but  there  he  failed 
completely;  he  drew  that  one  sorrowful  word  from  her  a  little 
more  frequently,  that  was  all.  But  the  old  grenadier  could 
amuse  her,  and  devoted  himself  to   playing  with  her,  and 

through  him  I  hoped;  but "  here  Stephanie's  uncle  broke 

off.     After  a  moment  he  went  on  again. 

"  Here  she  has  found  another  creature  with  whom  she 
seems  to  have  an  understanding— an  idiot  peasant  girl,  who 
once,  in  spite  of  her  plainness  and  imbecility,  fell  in  love  with 
a  mason.  The  mason  thought  of  marrying  her  because  she 
had  a  little  bit  of  land,  and  for  a  whole  year  poor  Genevieve 
was  the  happiest  of  living  creatures.  She  dressed  in  her  best, 
and  danced  on  Sundays  with  Dal  lot;  she  understood  love; 
there  was  room  for  love  in  her  heart  and  brain.  But  Dallot 
thought  better  of  it.  He  found  another  girl  who  had  all  her 
senses  and  rather  more  land  than  Genevieve,  and  he  forsook 
Genevieve  for  her.  Then  the  poor  thing  lost  the  little  intel- 
ligence that  love  had  developed  in  her ;  she  can  do  nothing 
now  but  cut  grass  and  look  after  the  cattle.  My  niece  and 
the  poor  girl  are  in  some  sort  bound  to  each  other  by  the  in- 
visible chain  of  their  common  destiny,  and  by  their  madness 
due  to  the  same  cause.  Just  come  here  a  moment;  look  1  " 
and  Stephanie's  uncle  led  the  Marquis  d'Albon  to  the  window. 

There,  in  fact,  the  magistrate  beheld  the  pretty  Countess 
sitting  on  the  ground  at  Genevieve's  knee,  while  the  peasant 
girl  was  wholly  absorbed  in  combing  out  Stephanie's  long, 
black  hair  with  a  huge  comb.  The  Countess  submitted  her- 
self to  this,  uttering  low  smothered  cries  that  expressed  her 


FAREWELL.  345 

enjoyment  of  the  sensation  of  physical  comfort.  A  shudder 
ran  through  M.  d'Albon  as  he  saw  her  attitude  of  languid 
abandonment,  the  animal  supineness  that  revealed  an  utter 
lack  of  intelligence. 

"Oh!  Philip,  Philip!"  he  cried,  "past  troubles  are  as 
nothing.     Is  it  quite  hopeless  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  doctor  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven. 

"  Good-bye,  monsieur,"  said  M.  d'Albon,  pressing  the  old 
man's  hand.  "  My  friend  is  expecting  me  ;  you  will  see  him 
here  before  very  long." 

"Then  it  is  Stephanie  herself?"  cried  Sucy  when  the 
Marquis  had  spoken  the  first  few  words.  "  Ah  !  until  now  I 
did  not  feel  sure  !  "  he  added.  Tears  filled  the  dark  eyes 
that  were  wont  to  wear  a  stern  expression. 

"  Yes ;  she  is  the  Comtesse  de  Vandidres,"  his  friend  replied. 

The  colonel  started  up  and  hurriedly  began  to  dress. 

"Why,  Philip!"  cried  the  horrified  magistrate.  "Are 
you  going  mad  ?  " 

"  I  am  quite  well  now,"  said  the  colonel  simply.  "  This 
news  has  soothed  all  my  bitterest  grief;  what  pain  could  hurt 
me  while  I  think  of  Stephanie  ?  I  am  going  over  to  the 
Minorite  convent,  to  see  her  and  to  speak  to  her,  to  restore 
her  to  health  again.  She  is  free ;  ah,  surely,  surely,  happi- 
ness will  smile  on  us,  or  there  is  no  Providence  above.  How 
can  you  think  that  she  could  hear  my  voice,  poor  Stephanie, 
and  not  recover  her  reason  ?  " 

"  She  has  seen  you  once  already,  and  she  did  not  recognize 
you,"  the  magistrate  answered  gently,  trying  to  suggest  some 
wholesome  fears  to  his  friend,  whose  hopes  were  visibly  too  high. 

The  colonel  shuddered,  but  he  began  to  smile  again,  with 
a  slight  involuntary  gesture  of  incredulity.  Nobody  ventured 
to  oppose  his  plans,  and  a  few  hours  later  he  had  taken  up  his 
abode  in  the  old  priory,  to  be  near  the  doctor  and  the  Com- 
tesse de  Vandi^res. 


346  FAREWELL. 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  he  cried  at  once. 

"  Hush  !  "  answered  M.  Fanjat,  Stephanie's  uncle.  "She 
is  sleeping.     Stay;  here  she  is." 

Philip  saw  the  poor  distraught  sleeper  crouching  on  a  stone 
bench  in  the  sun.  Her  thick  hair,  straggling  over  her  face, 
screened  it  from  the  glare  and  heat ;  her  arms  dropped  lan- 
guidly to  the  earth  \  she  lay  at  ease  as  gracefully  as  a  fawn, 
her  feet  tucked  up  beneath  her  ;  her  bosom  rose  and  fell  with 
her  even  breathing ;  there  was  the  same  transparent  white- 
ness as  of  porcelain  in  her  skin  and  complexion  that  we  so 
often  admire  in  children's  faces.  Genevieve  sat  there  motion- 
less, holding  a  spray  that  Stephanie  doubtless  had  brought 
down  from  the  top  of  one  of  the  tallest  poplars  ;  the  idiot  girl 
was  waving  the  green  branch  above  her,  driving  away  the  flies 
from  her  sleeping  companion,  and  gently  fanning  her. 

She  stared  at  M.  Fanjat  and  the  colonel  as  they  came  up ; 
then,  like  a  dumb  animal  that  recognizes  its  master,  she 
slowly  turned  her  face  towards  the  Countess,  and  watched 
over  her  as  before,  showing  not  the  slightest  sign  of  intelli- 
gence or  of  astonishment.  The  air  was  scorching.  The  glit- 
tering particles  of  the  stone  bench  shone  like  sparks  of  fire ; 
the  meadow  sent  up  the  quivering  vapors  that  hover  above 
the  grass  and  gleam  like  golden  dust  when  they  catch  the 
light,  but  Genevieve  did  not  seem  to  feel  the  raging  heat. 

The  colonel  wrung  M.  Fanjat's  hands;  the  tears  that  gath- 
ered in  the  soldier's  eyes  stole  down  his  cheeks,  and  fell  on 
the  grass  at  Stephanie's  feet. 

"Sir,"  said  her  uncle,  "  for  these  two  years  my  heart  has 
been  broken  daily.  Before  very  long  you  will  be  as  I  am ; 
if  you  do  not  weep,  you  will  not  feel  your  anguish  the  less." 

"You  have  taken  care  of  her  !  "  said  the  colonel,  and  jeal- 
ousy no  less  than  gratitude  could  be  read  in  his  eyes. 

The  two  men  understood  one  another.  They  grasped  each 
other  by  the  hand  again,  and  stood  motionless,  gazing  in 
admiration  at  the  serenity  that  slumber  had  brought  into  the 


FAREWELL.  347 

lovely  face  before  them.  Stephanie  heaved  a  sigh  from  time 
to  time,  and  this  sigh,  that  had  all  the  appearance  of  sensi- 
bility, made  the  unhappy  colonel  tremble  with  gladness. 

"  Alas  !  "  M.  Fanjat  said  gently,  "  do  not  deceive  yourself, 
monsieur ;  as  you  see  her  now,  she  is  in  full  possession  of 
such  reason  as  she  has." 

Those  who  have  sat  for  whole  hours  absorbed  in  the  delight 
of  watching  over  the  slumber  of  some  tenderly-beloved  one, 
whose  waking  eyes  will  smile  for  them,  will  doubtless  under- 
stand the  bliss  and  anguish  that  shook  the  colonel.  For  him 
this  slumber  was  an  illusion,  the  waking  must  be  a  kind  of 
death,  the  most  dreadful  of  all  deaths. 

Suddenly  a  kid  frisked  in  two  or  three  bounds  towards  the 
bench,  and  snuffed  at  Stephanie.  The  sound  awakened  her ; 
she  sprang  lightly  to  her  feet  without  scaring  away  the  capri- 
cious creature;  but  as  soon  as  she  saw  Philip  she  fled,  fol- 
lowed by  her  four-footed  playmate,  to  a  thicket  of  elder  trees ; 
then  she  uttered  a  little  cry  like  the  note  of  a  startled 
wild-bird,  the  same  sound  that  the  colonel  had  heard  once 
before  near  the  grating,  when  the  Countess  appeared  to  M. 
d'Albon  for  the  first  time.  At  length  she  climbed  into  a 
laburnum  tree,  ensconced  herself  in  the  feathery  greenery, 
and  peered  at  the  strange  man  with  as  much  interest  as  the 
most  inquisitive  nightingale  in  the  forest. 

"Farewell,  farewell,  farewell,"  she  said,  but  the  soul  sent 
no  trace  of  expression  of  feeling  through  the  words,  spoken 
with  the  careless  intonation  of  a  bird's  notes. 

"She  does   not  know   me!"    the   colonel   exclaimed   in 

despair.      "Stephanie!      Here   is  Philip,  your  Philip! 

Philip!"  and  the  poor  soldier  went  towards  the  laburnum 
tree  ;  but  when  he  stood  three  paces  away,  the  Countess  eyed 
him  almost  defiantly,  though  there  was  timidity  in  her  eyes; 
then  at  a  bound  she  sprang  from  the  laburnum  to  an  acacia, 
and  thence  to  a  spruce-fir,  swinging  from  bough  to  bough  with 
marvelous  dexterity. 


348  FAREWELL, 

"  Do  not  follow  her,"  said  M.  Fanjat,  addressing  the 
colonel.  "  You  would  arouse  a  feeling  of  aversion  in  her 
which  might  become  insurmountable  \  I  will  help  you  to  make 
her  acquaintance  and  to  tame  her.  Sit  down  on  the  bench. 
If  you  pay  no  heed  whatever  to  her,  poor  child,  it  will  not  be 
long  before  you  will  see  her  come  nearer  by  degrees  to  look 
at  you." 

"  That  she  should  not  know  me  !  that  she  should  fly  from 
me  !  "  the  colonel  repeated,  sitting  down  on  a  rustic  bench 
and  leaning  his  back  against  a  tree  that  overshadowed  it. 

He  bowed  his  head.  The  doctor  remained  silent.  Before 
very  long  the  Countess  stole  softly  down  from  her  high  refuge 
in  the  spruce-fir,  flitting  like  a  will-of-the-wisp ;  for,  as  the 
wind  stirred  through  the  boughs,  she  lent  herself  at  times  to 
the  swaying  movements  of  the  trees.  At  each  branch  she 
stopped  and  peered  at  the  stranger;  but  as  she  saw  him  sitting 
motionless,  she  at  length  jumped  down  to  the  grass,  stood  a 
while,  and  came  slowly  across  the  meadow.  When  she  took 
up  her  position  by  a  tree  about  ten  paces  from  the  bench,  M. 
Fanjat  spoke  to  the  colonel  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Feel  in  my  pocket  for  some  lumps  of  sugar,"  he  said, 
"and  let  her  see  them,  she  will  come;  I  willingly  give  up  to 
you  the  pleasure  of  giving  her  sweetmeats.  She  is  passion- 
ately fond  of  sugar,  and  by  that  means  you  will  accustom  her 
to  come  to  you  and  to  know  you." 

*'  She  never  cared  for  sweet  things  when  she  was  a 
woman,"  Philip  answered  sadly. 

When  he  held  out  the  lump  of  sugar  between  his  thumb 
and  finger,  and  shook  it,  St6phanie  uttered  the  wild  note 
again,  and  sprang  quickly  towards  him  ;  then  she  stopped 
short,  there  was  a  conflict  between  longing  for  the  sweet 
morsel  and  instinctive  fear  of  him  ;  she  looked  at  the  sugar, 
turned  her  head  away,  and  looked  again  like  an  unfortunate 
dog  forbidden  to  touch  some  scrap  of  food,  while  his  master 
slowly  recites  the  greater  part  of  the  alphabet  until  he  reaches 


FAREWELL.  349 

the  letter  that  gives  permission.  At  length  animal  appetite 
conquered  fear  \  Stephanie  rushed  to  Philip,  held  out  a  dainty 
brown  hand  to  pounce  upon  the  coveted  morsel,  touched  her 
lover's  fingers,  snatched  the  piece  of  sugar,  and  vanished  with 
it  into  a  thicket.  This  painful  scene  was  too  much  for  the 
colonel ;  he  burst  into  tears,  and  took  refuge  in  the  drawing- 
room. 

"Then  has  love  less  courage  than  affection?"  M.  Fanjat 
asked  him,  "  I  have  hope,  Monsieur  le  Baron.  My  poor 
niece  was  once  in  a  far  more  pitiable  state  than  at  present." 

"Is  it  possible?"  cried  Philip. 

"She  would  not  wear  clothes,"  answered  the  doctor. 

The  colonel  shuddered,  and  his  face  grew  pale.  To  the 
doctor's  mind  this  pallor  was  an  unhealthy  symptom  ;  he  went 
over  to  him  and  felt  his  pulse,  M.  de  Sucy  was  in  a  high 
fever;  by  dint  of  persuasion,  he  succeeded  in  putting  the 
patient  in  bed,  and  gave  him  a  few  drops  of  laudanum  to  gain 
re])ose  and  sleep. 

The  Baron  de  Sucy  spent  nearly  a  week,  in  a  constant 
struggle  with  a  deadly  anguish,  and  before  long  he  had  no 
tears  left  to  shed.  He  was  often  wellnigh  heart-broken ;  he 
could  not  grow  accustomed  to  the  sight  of  the  Countess*  mad- 
ne'ss ;  but  he  made  terms  for  himself,  as  it  were,  in  this  cruel 
position,  and  sought  alleviations  in  his  pain.  His  heroism 
was  boundless.  He  found  courage  to  overcome  Stephanie's 
wild  shyness  by  choosing  sweetmeats  for  her,  and  devoted  all 
his  thoughts  to  this,  bringing  these  dainties,  and  following  up 
the  little  victories  that  he  set  himself  to  gain  over  Stephanie's 
instincts  (the  last  gleam  of  intelligence  in  her),  until  he  suc- 
ceeded to  some  extent — she  grew  tamer  than  ever  before. 
Every  morning  the  colonel  went  into  the  park ;  and  if,  after 
a  long  search  for  the  Countess,  he  could  not  discover  the  tree 
in  which  she  was  rocking  herself  gently,  nor  the  nook  where 
she  lay  crouching  at  play  with  some  bird,  nor  the  roof  where 
she  had  perched  herself,  he  would  whistle  the  well-known  air 


350  FAREWELL. 

Partant  pour  la  Syrie,  which  recalled  old  memories  of  their 
love,  and  Stephanie  would  run  towards  him  lightly  as  a  fawn. 
She  saw  the  colonel  so  often  that  she  was  no  longer  afraid  of 
him ;  before  very  long  she  would  sit  on  his  knee  with  her 
thin,  lithe  arms  about  him.  And  while  thus  they  sat  as  lovers 
love  to  do,  Philip  doled  out  sweetmeats  one  by  one  to  the 
eager  Countess.  When  they  were  all  finished,  the  fancy  often 
took  Stephanie  to  search  through  her  lover's  pockets  with  a 
monkey's  quick  instinctive  dexterity,  till  she  had  assured  her- 
self that  there  was  nothing  left,  and  then  she  gazed  at  Philip 
with  vacant  eyes ;  there  was  no  thought,  no  gratitude  in  their 
clear  depths.  Then  she  would  play  with  him.  She  tried  to 
take  off  his  boots  to  see  his  foot ;  she  tore  his  gloves  to  shreds, 
and  put  on  his  hat ;  and  she  would  let  him  pass  his  hands 
through  her  hair,  and  take  her  in  his  arms,  and  submit  pas- 
sively to  his  passionate  kisses,  and  at  last,  if  he  shed  tears, 
she  would  gaze  silently  at  him. 

She  quite  understood  the  signal  when  he  whistled  Partant 
pour  la  Syrie,  but  he  could  never  succeed  in  inducing  her  to 
pronounce  her  own  name — Stephanie.  Philip  persevered  in 
his  heart-rending  task,  sustained  by  a  hope  that  never  left  him. 
If  on  some  bright  autumn  morning  he  saw  her  sitting  quietly 
on  a  bench  under  a  poplar  tree,  grown  brown  now  as  tiie 
season  wore,  the  unhappy  lover  would  lie  at  her  feet  and  gaze 
into  her  eyes  as  long  as  she  would  let  him  gaze,  hoping  that 
some  spark  of  intelligence  might  gleam  from  them.  At  times 
he  lent  himself  to  an  illusion ;  he  would  imagine  that  he  saw  the 
bard,  changeless  light  in  them  falter,  that  there  was  a  new  life 
and  softness  in  them,  and  he  would  cry,  "  Stephanie !  oh, 
Stephanie  !  you  hear  me,  you  see  me,  do  you  not? " 

But  for  her  the  sound  of  his  voice  was  like  any  other  sound, 
the  stirring  of  the  wind  in  the  trees,  or  the  lowing  of  the  cow 
on  which  she  scrambled ;  and  the  colonel  wrung  his  hands  in 
a  despair  that  lost  none  of  its  bitterness ;  nay,  time  and  these 
vain  efforts  only  added  to  his  anguish. 


FAREWELL.  351 

One  evening,  under  the  quiet  sky,  in  the  midst  of  the 
silence  and  peace  of  the  forest  hermitage,  M.  Fanjat  saw  from 
a  distance  that  the  Baron  was  busy  loading  a  pistol,  and  knew 
that  the  lover  had  given  up  all  hope.  The  blood  surged  to 
the  old  doctor's  heart ;  and  if  he  overcame  the  dizzy  sensa- 
tion that  seized  on  him,  it  was  because  he  would  rather  see  his 
niece  live  with  a  disordered  brain  than  lose  her  for  ever.  He 
hurried  to  the  place. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  he  cried. 

"That  is  for  me,"  the  colonel  answered,  pointing  to  a 
loaded  pistol  on  the  bench,  **  and  this  is  for  her  !  "  he  added, 
as  he  rammed  down  the  wad  into  the  pistol  that  he  held  in 
his  hands. 

The  Countess  lay  stretched  out  on  the  ground,  playing 
with  the  balls. 

"  Then  you  do  not  know  that  last  night,  as  she  slept,  she 
murmured  'Philip?'"  said  the  doctor  quietly,  dissembling 
his  alarm. 

"She  called  my  name?"  cried  the  Baron,  letting  his 
weapon  fall.  Stephanie  picked  it  up,  but  he  snatched  it  out 
of  her  hands,  caught  the  other  pistol  from  the  bench  and 
fled. 

"Poor  little  one  1  "  exclaimed  the  doctor,  rejoicing  that 
his  stratagem  had  succeeded  so  well.  He  held  her  tightly  to 
his  heart  as  he  went  on.  "  He  would  have  killed  you,  selfish 
that  he  is  !  He  wants  you  to  die  because  he  is  unhappy.  He 
cannot  learn  to  love  you  for  your  own  sake,  little  one  !  We 
forgive  him,  do  we  not?  He  is  senseless  ;  you  are  only  mad. 
Never  mindj  God  alone  shall  take  you  to  Himself.  We  look 
upon  you  as  unhappy  because  you  no  longer  share  our  miseries, 

fools  that  we  are  ! Why,  she  is  happy,"  he  said,  taking 

her  on  his  knee ;  "  nothing  troubles  her ;  she  lives  like  the 
birds,  like  the  deer " 

Stephanie  sprang  upon  a  young  blackbird  that  was  hopping 
about,  caught  it  with  a  little  shriek  of  glee,  twisted  its  neck, 


852  FAREWELL. 

looked  at  the  dead  bird,  and  dropped  it  at  the  foot  of  a  tree 
without  giving  it  another  thought. 

The  next  morning  at  daybreak  the  coJ'^nel  went  out  into 
the  garden  to  look  for  Stephanie ;  hope  was  very  strong  in 
him.  He  did  not  see  her,  and  whistled ;  and  when  she  came, 
he  took  her  arm,  and  for  the  first  time  they  walked  together 
along  an  alley  beneath  the  trees,  while  the  fresh  morning 
wind  shook  down  the  dead  leaves  about  them.  The  colonel 
sat  down,  and  Stephanie,  of  her  own  accord,  lit  upon  his 
knee.     Philip  trembled  with  gladness. 

"Love!"  he  cried,  covering  her  hands  with  passionate 
kisses,  "I  am  Philip " 

She  looked  curiously  at  him. 

"Come  close,"  he  added,  as  he  held  her  tightly.  "Do 
you  feel  the  beating  of  my  heart  ?  It  has  beat  for  you,  for 
you  only.  I  love  you  always.  Philip  is  not  dead.  He  is 
here.  You  are  sitting  on  his  knee.  You  are  my  Stephanie, 
I  am  your  Philip  !  " 

"  Farewell !  "  she  said,  "  farewell !  " 

The  colonel  shivered.  He  thought  that  some  vibration  of 
his  highly-wrought  feeling  had  surely  reached  his  beloved ; 
that  the  heart-rending  cry  drawn  from  him  by  hope,  the  utmost 
effort  of  a  love  that  must  last  for  ever,  of  passion  in  its  ecstasy, 
striving  to  reach  the  soul  of  the  woman  he  loved,  must  awaken 
her. 

"  Oh,  Stephanie  !  we  shall  be  happy  yet !  " 

A  cry  of  satisfaction  broke  from  her,  a  dim  light  of  intelli- 
gence gleamed  in  her  eyes. 

"  She  knows  me  !     Stephanie  ! " 

The  colonel  felt  his  heart  swell,  and  tears  gathered  under 
his  eyelids.  But  all  at  once  the  Countess  held  up  a  bit  of 
sugar  for  him  to  see;  she  had  discovered  it  by  searching  dili- 
gently for  it  while  he  spoke.  What  he  had  mistaken  for  a 
human  thought  was  a  degree  of  reason  required  for  a  monkey's 
mischievous  trick ! 


FAREWELL.  353 

Philip  fainted.  M.  Fanjat  found  the  Countess  sitting  on 
his  prostrate  body.  She  was  nibbling  her  bit  of  sugar,  giving 
expression  to  her  enjoyment  by  little  grimaces  and  gestures 
that  would  have  been  thought  clever  in  a  woman  in  full  pos- 
session of  her  senses  if  she  tried  to  mimic  her  paroquet  or  her 
cat. 

*'  Oh,  my  friend  !  "  cried  Philip,  when  he  came  to  himself. 
*'  This  is  like  death  every  moment  of  the  day  !  I  love  her 
too  much  !  I  could  bear  anything  if  only  through  her  mad- 
ness she  had  kept  some  little  trace  of  womanhood.  But,  day 
after  day,  to  see  her  like  a  wild  animal,  not  even  a  sense  of 
modesty  left,  to  see  her " 

*'  So  you  must  have  a  theatrical  madness,  must  you?  "  said 
the  doctor  sharply,  "  and  your  prejudices  are  stronger  than 
your  lover's  devotion  ?  What,  monsieur  !  I  resign  to  you  the 
sad  pleasure  of  giving  my  niece  her  food  and  the  enjoyment 
of  her  playtime;  I  have  kept  for  myself  nothing  but  the  most 
burdensome  cares.     I  watch  over  her  while  you  are  asleep, 

I Go,  monsieur,  and  give  up  the  task.  Leave  this  dreary 

hermitage ;  I  can  live  with  my  little  darling ;  I  understand 
her  disease ;  I  study  her  movements ;  I  know  her  secrets. 
Some  day  you  will  thank  me." 

The  colonel  left  the  Minorite  convent,  that  he  was  destined 
to  see  only  once  again.  The  doctor  was  alarmed  by  the  effect 
that  his  words  made  upon  his  guest ;  his  niece's  lover 
became  as  dear  to  him  as  his  niece.  If  either  of  them  de- 
served to  be  pitied,  that  one  was  certainly  Philip;  did  he  not 
bear  alone  the  burden  of  an  appalling  sorrow? 

The  doctor  made  inquiries,  and  learned  that  the  hapless 
colonel  had  retired  to  a  country  house  of  his  near  Saint-Ger- 
main. A  dream  had  suggested  to  him  a  plan  for  restoring  the 
Countess  to  reason,  and  the  doctor  did  not  know  that  he  was 
spending  the  rest  of  the  autumn  in  carrying  out  a  vast  scheme. 
A  small  stream  ran  tlirough  his  park,  and  in  the  winter-time 
flooded  a  low-lying  land,  something  like  the  plain  on  the 
23 


854  FAREWELL. 

eastern  side  of  the  Beresina.  The  village  of  Satout,  on  the 
slope  of  a  ridge  above  it,  bounded  the  horizon  of  a  picture  of 
desolation,  something  as  Studzianka  lay  on  the  heights  that 
shut  in  the  swamp  of  the  Beresina.  The  colonel  set  laborers 
to  work  to  make  a  channel  to  resemble  the  greedy  river  that 
had  swallowed  up  the  treasures  of  France  and  Napoleon's 
army.  By  the  help  of  his  memories,  Philip  reconstructed  on 
his  own  lands  the  bank  where  General  Eble  had  built  his 
bridges.  He  drove  in  piles,  and  then  set  fire  to  them,  so  as 
to  reproduce  the  charred  and  blackened  balks  of  timber  that 
on  either  side  of  the  river  told  the  stragglers  that  their  retreat 
to  France  had  been  cut  off.  He  had  materials  collected  like 
the  fragments  out  of  which  his  comrades  in  misfortune  had 
made  the  raft ;  his  park  was  laid  waste  to  complete  the  illu- 
sion on  which  his  last  hopes  were  founded.  He  ordered 
ragged  uniforms  and  clothing  for  several  hundred  peasants. 
Huts  and  bivouacs  and  batteries  were  raised  and  burned  down. 
In  short,  he  omitted  no  device  that  could  reproduce  that 
most  hideous  of  all  scenes.  He  succeeded.  When,  in  the 
earliest  days  of  December,  snow  covered  the  earth  with  a 
thick  white  mantle,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  saw  the  Beresina 
itself.  The  mimic  Russia  was  so  startlingly  real,  that  several 
of  his  old  comrades  recognized  the  scene  of  their  past  suffer- 
ings. M.  de  Sucy  kept  the  secret  of  the  drama  to  be  enacted 
with  this  tragical  background,  but  it  was  looked  upon  as  a 
mad  freak  on  his  part,  in  several  of  the  leading  circles  of 
society  in  Paris. 

In  the  early  days  of  the  month  of  January,  1820,  the  colonel 
drove  over  to  the  Forest  of  1' Isle- Adam  in  a  carriage  like  the 
one  in  which  M.  and  Mme.  de  Vandi^res  had  driven  from 
Moscow  to  Studzianka.  The  horses  closely  resembled  that 
other  pair  that  he  had  risked  his  life  to  bring  from  the  Russian 
lines.  He  himself  wore  the  grotesque  and  soiled  clothes, 
accoutrements,  and  cap  that  he  had  worn  on  the  29th  of 
November,  181 2.     He  had  even  allowed  his  hair  and  beard 


FAREWELL.  355 

to  grow,  and  neglected  his  appearance,  that  no  detail  might 
be  lacking  to  recall  the  scene  in  all  its  horror. 

"I  guessed  what  you  meant  to  do,"  cried  M.  Fanjat,  when 
he  saw  the  colonel  dismount.  "If  you  mean  your  plan  to 
succeed,  do  not  let  her  see  you  in  that  carriage.  This  evening 
I  will  give  my  niece  a  little  laudanum,  and  while  she  sleeps 
we  will  dress  her  in  such  clothes  as  she  wore  at  Studzianka, 
and  put  her  in  your  traveling  carriage.  I  will  follow  you  in  a 
berline." 

Soon  after  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  young  Countess 
was  lifted  into  the  carriage,  laid  on  the  cushions,  and  wrapped 
in  a  coarse  blanket.  A  {<vh  peasants  held  torches  while  this 
strange  elopement  was  arranged. 

A  sudden  cry  rang  through  the  silence  of  night,  and  Philip 
and  the  doctor,  turning,  saw  Genevieve.  She  had  come  out 
half-dressed  from  the  low  room  where  she  slept. 

'* Farewell,  farewell;  it  is  all  over,  farewell !"  she  called, 
crying  bitterly. 

"Why,  Genevieve,  what  is  it  ?  "  asked  M.  Fanjat. 

Genevieve  shook  her  head  despairingly,  raised  her  arm  to 
heaven,  looked  at  the  carriage,  uttered  a  long  snarling  sound, 
and,  with  evident  signs  of  profound  terror,  slunk  in  again. 

" 'Tis  a  good  omen,"  cried  the  colonel.  "The  girl  is 
sorry  to  lose  her  companion.  Very  likely  she  sees  that  Ste- 
phanie is  about  to  recover  her  reason." 

"God  grant  it  maybe  so!"  answered  M.  Fanjat,  who 
seemed  to  be  affected  by  this  incident.  Since  insanity  had 
interested  him,  he  had  known  several  cases  in  which  a  spirit 
of  prophecy  and  the  gift  of  second-sight  had  been  accorded 
to  a  disordered  brain — two  faculties  which  many  travelers  tell 
us  are  also  found  among  savage  tribes. 

So  it  happened  that,  as  the  colonel  had  foreseen  and  ar- 
ranged, Stephanie  traveled  across  the  mimic  Beresina  about 
nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  was  awakened  by  an  explo- 
sion of  rockets  about  a  hundred  paces  from  the  scene  of  action. 


356  FAREWELL. 

It  was  a  signal.  Hundreds  of  peasants  raised  a  terrible  clamor, 
like  the  despairing  shouts  that  startled  the  Russians  when 
twenty  thousand  stragglers  learned  that  by  their  own  fault 
they  were  delivered  over  to  death  or  to  slavery. 

When  tlie  Countess  heard  the  report  and  the  cries  that 
followed  she  sprang  out  of  the  carriage  and  rushed  in  frenzied 
anguish  over  the  snow-covered  plain ;  she  saw  the  burned 
bivouacs  and  the  fatal  raft  about  to  be  launched  on  a  frozen 
Beresina.  She  saw  Major  Philip  brandishing  his  sabre  among 
the  crowd.  The  cry  that  broke  from  Mrae.  de  Vandieres 
made  the  blood  run  cold  in  the  veins  of  all  who  heard  it. 
She  stood  face  to  face  with  the  colonel,  who  watched  her  with 
a  beating  heart.  At  first  she  stared  blankly  at  the  strange 
scene  about  her,  then  she  reflected.  For  an  instant,  brief  as 
a  lightning  flash,  there  was  the  same  quick  gaze  and  total  lack 
of  comprehension  that  we  see  in  the  bright  eyes  of  a  bird ; 
then  she  passed  her  hand  across  her  forehead  with  the  intelli- 
gent expression  of  a  thinking  being ;  she  looked  round  on  the 
memories  that  had  taken  substantial  form,  into  the  past  life 
that  had  been  transported  into  her  present ;  she  turned  her 
face  to  Philip — and  saw  him  !  An  awed  silence  fell  upon  the 
crowd.  The  colonel  breathed  hard,  but  dared  not  speak ; 
tears  filled  the  doctor's  eyes.  A  faint  color  overspread  Ste- 
phanie's beautiful  face,  deepening  slowly,  till  at  last  she 
glowed  like  a  girl  radiant  with  youth.  Still  the  bright  flush 
grew.  Life  and  joy,  kindled  within  her  as  the  blaze  of  intel- 
ligence, swept  through  her  like  leaping  flames.  A  convulsive 
tremor  ran  from  her  feet  to  her  heart.  But  all  these  tokens, 
which  flashed  on  the  sight  in  a  moment,  gathered  and  gained 
consistence,  as  it  were,  when  Stephanie's  eyes  gleamed  with 
heavenly  radiance,  the  light  of  a  soul  within.  She  lived,  she 
thought  !  She  shuddered — was  it  with  fear  ?  God  Himself 
unloosed  a  second  time  the  tongue  that  had  been  bound  by 
deaths  and  set  His  fire  anew  in  the  extinguished  soul.     The 


FAREWELL.  357 

electric  torrent  of  the  human  will  vivified  the  body  whence  it 
had  so  long  been  absent. 

"  Stephanie  !  "  the  colonel  cried. 

"  Oh  !  it  is  Philip  !  "  said  the  poor  Countess. 

She  fled  to  the  trembling  arms  held  out  towards  her,  and 
the  embrace  of  the  two  lovers  frightened  those  who  beheld  it. 
Stephanie  burst  into  tears. 

Suddenly  the  tears  ceased  to  flow;  she  lay  in  his  arms  a 
dead  weight,  as  if  stricken  by  a  thunderbolt,  and  said  faintly — 

"  Farewell,  Philip  ! I  love  you farewell !  " 

"  She  is  dead  !  "  cried  the  colonel,  unclasping  his  arms. 

The  old  doctor  received  the  lifeless  body  of  his  niece  in  his 
arms  as  a  young  man  might  have  done  ;  he  carried  her  to  a 
stack  of  wood  and  set  her  down.  He  looked  at  her  face,  and 
laid  a  feeble  hand,  tremulous  with  agitation,  upon  her  heart 
— it  beat  no  longer. 

**  Can  it  really  be  so  ?  "  he  said,  looking  from  the  colonel, 
who  stood  there  motionless,  to  Stephanie's  face.  Death  had 
invested  it  with  a  radiant  beauty,  a  transient  aureole,  the 
pledge,  it  may  be,  of  a  glorious  life  to  come. 

"Yes,  she  is  dead." 

"  Oh,  but  that  smile  !  "  cried  Philip;  "only  see  that  smile. 
Is  it  possible  ?  ' ' 

"  She  has  grown  cold  already,"  answered  M.  Fanjat. 

M.  de  Sucy  made  a  few  strides  to  tear  himself  from  the 
sight ;  then  he  stopped,  and  whistled  the  air  that  the  mad 
Stephanie  had  understood  ;  and  when  he  saw  that  she  did 
not  rise  and  hasten  to  him,  he  walked  away,  staggering  like  a 
drunken  man,  still  whistling,  but  he  did  not  turn  again. 

In  society  General  de  Sucy  is  looked  upon  as  very  agree- 
able, and,  above  all  things,  as  very  lively  and  amusing.  Not 
very  long  ago  a  lady  complimented  him  upon  his  good  humor 
and  equable  temper. 


356  FAREWELL. 

*'  Ah  !  madame,"  he  answered,  "  I  pay  very  dearly  for  my 
merriment  in  the  evening  if  I  am  alone." 

"Then,  you  are  never  alone,  I  suppose." 

**  No,"  he  answered,  smiling. 

If  a  keen  observer  of  human  nature  could  have  seen  the 
look  that  Sucy's  face  wore  at  that  moment,  he  would,  without 
doubt,  have  shuddered. 

"Why  do  you  not  marry?  "  the  lady  asked  (she  had  sev- 
eral daughters  of  her  own  at  a  boarding-school).  "You  are 
wealthy ;  you  belong  to  an  old  and  noble  house  ;  you  are 
clever ;  you  have  a  future  before  you ;  everything  smiles  upon 
you." 

"Yes,"  he  answered  ;  "  one  smile  is  killing  me " 

On  the  morrow  the  lady  heard  with  amazement  that  M.  de 
Sucy  had  shot  himself  through  the  head  that  night. 

The  fashionable  world  discussed  the  extraordinary  news  in 
divers  ways,  and  each  had  a  theory  to  account  for  it ;  play, 
love,  ambition,  irregularities  in  private  life,  according  to  the 
taste  of  the  speaker,  explained  the  last  act  of  the  tragedy  be- 
gan in  1812.  Two  men  alone,  a  magistrate  and  an  old  doctor, 
knew  that  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Sucy  was  one  of  those  souls 
unhappy  in  the  strength  God  gives  them  to  enable  them  to 
triumph  daily  in  a  ghastly  struggle  with  a  mysterious  horror. 
If  for  a  moment  God  withdraws  His  sustaining  hand,  they 
succumb. 

Paris,  March,  1830. 


A  SEASIDE  TRAGEDY  * 

(^Un  Drame  au  bord  de  la  merS) 

To  Madame  la  Princesse  Caroline  Galitzin  de 
Genthod,  nee  Cotntesse  Walewska,  this  souvenir  of 
the  Author  is  respectfully  dedicated. 

The  young  for  the  most  part  delight  to  measure  the  future 
with  a  pair  of  compasses  of  their  own  ;  when  the  strength  of 
the  will  equals  the  boldness  of  the  angle  that  they  thus  pro- 
ject, the  whole  world  is  theirs. 

This  phenomenon  of  mental  existence  takes  place,  however, 
only  at  a  certain  age,  and  that  age,  without  exception,  lies  in 
the  years  between  twenty-two  and  eight-and-twenty.  It  is  an 
age  of  first  conceptions,  because  it  is  an  age  of  vast  longings, 
an  age  which  is  doubtful  of  nothing  ;  doubt  at  that  time  is  a 
confession  of  weakness ;  it  passes  as  swiftly  as  the  sowing 
time,  and  is  followed  by  the  age  of  execution.  There  are  in 
some  manner  two  periods  of  youth  in  every  life — the 
youth  of  confident  hopes,  and  the  youth  of  action ;  some- 
times in  those  whom  nature  has  favored,  the  two  ages  coincide, 
and  then  we  have  a  Caesar,  a  Newton,  or  a  Bonaparte — the 
greatest  among  great  men. 

I  was  measuring  the  space  of  time  that  a  single  thought 
needs  for  its  development,  and  (compass  in  hand)  stood  on  a 
crag  a  hundred  fathoms  above  the  sea,  surveying  my  future, 
and  filling  it  with  great  works,  like  an  engineer  who  should 
survey  an  empty  land,  and  cover  it  with  fortresses  and  palaces. 
The  sea  was  calm,  the  waves  toyed  with  the  reefs  of  rock.  I 
had  just  dressed  after  a  swim,  and  was  waiting  for  Pauline,  my 
guardian  angel,  who  was  bathing  in  a  granite  basin  floored 
*  A  letter  written  by  Louis  Lambert. 

(359) 


360  A   SEASIDE    TRAGEDY. 

with  fine  sand,  the  daintiest  bathing-place  of  nature's 
fashioning  for  the  sea-fairies. 

We  were  at  the  utmost  extremity  of  Croisic-point,  a  tiny 
peninsula  in  Brittany ;  we  were  far  from  the  haven  itself,  and 
in  a  part  of  the  coast  so  inaccessible  that  the  inland  revenue 
department  ignored  it,  and  a  coastguard  scarcely  ever  passed 
that  way.  Ah  !  to  dip  in  the  winds  of  space,  after  a  plunge  in 
the  sea  !  Who  would  not  have  launched  forth  into  the  future  ? 
Why  did  I  think?  Why  does  a  trouble  invade  us?  Who 
knows?  Ideas  drift  across  heart  and  brain  by  no  will  of 
yours.  No  courtesan  is  more  capricious,  more  imperious, 
than  an  artist's  inspiration ;  you  must  seize  her  like  fortune, 
and  grasp  her  by  the  hair — when  she  comes.  Borne  aloft  by 
ray  thought,  like  Astolpho  upon  his  hippogriff,  I  rode  across 
my  world,  and  arranged  it  all  to  my  liking.  Then  when  I 
was  fain  to  find  some  augury  in  the  things  about  me  for  these 
daring  castles  that  a  wild  imagination  bade  me  build,  I  heard 
a  sweet  cry  above  the  murmur  of  the  restless  sea-fringe  that 
marks  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  tide  upon  the  shore,  the  sound 
of  a  woman's  voice  calling  to  me  through  the  loneliness  and 
silence,  the  glad  cry  of  a  woman  fresh  from  the  sea.  It  was 
as  if  a  soul  leaped  forth  in  that  cry,  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if 
I  had  seen  the  footprints  of  an  angel  on  the  bare  rocks,  an 
angel  with  outspread  wings,  who  cried,  **  You  will  succeed  !  " 
I  came  down,  radiant  and  light  of  foot,  by  bounds,  like  a 
pebble  flung  down  some  steep  slope.  "What  is  it?"  she 
asked  as  soon  as  she  saw  me,  and  I  did  not  answer  ;  my  eyes 
were  full  of  tears. 

Yesterday  Pauline  had  felt  my  sorrow,  as  to-day  she  felt  my 
joy,  with  the  magical  responsiveness  of  a  harp  that  is  sensitive 
to  every  change  in  the  atmosphere.  Life  has  exquisite  mo- 
ments. We  went  in  silence  along  the  beach.  The  sky  was 
cloudless;  there  was  not  a  ripple  on  the  sea;  others  might 
have  seen  nothing  there  but  two  vast  blue  steppes  above  and 
below ;  but  as  for  us,  who  had  no  need  of  words  to  understand 


A   SEASIDE    TRAGEDY.  361 

each  other,  who  could  conjure  up  illusions  to  feast  the  eyes 
of  youth  and  fill  the  space  between  the  zones  of  sea  and  sky — 
those  swaddling-bands  of  the  Infinite — we  pressed  each  other's 
hands  at  the  slightest  change  that  passed  over  the  fields  of 
water  or  the  fields  of  air,  for  in  those  fleeting  signs  we  read 
the  interpretation  of  our  double  thought.  Who  has  not 
known,  in  the  midst  of  pleasure,  the  moment  of  infinite  joy 
when  the  soul  slips  its  fetters  of  flesh,  as  it  were,  and  returns 
to  the  world  whence  it  came?  And  pleasure  is  not  our  only 
guide  to  those  regions  ;  are  there  not  hours  when  feeling  and 
thought  intertwine  with  thought  and  feeling,  and  fare  forth 
together  as  two  children  who  take  each  other  by  the  hand  and 
run,  without  knowing  why?     We  went  thus. 

The  roofs  of  the  town  had  come  to  be  a  faint  gray  line  on 
the  horizon  by  the  time  that  we  came  upon  a  poor  fisherman 
on  his  way  back  to  Croisic.  He  was  barefooted  ;  his  trousers, 
of  linen  cloth,  were  botched,  and  tattered,  and  fringed  with 
rags ;  he  wore  a  shirt  of  sailcloth,  and  a  mere  rag  of  a  jacket. 
This  wretchedness  jarred  upon  us,  as  if  it  had  been  a  discord- 
ant note  in  the  midst  of  our  harmony.  We  both  looked  at 
each  other,  regretting  that  we  had  not  Abul  Kasim's  treasury 
to  draw  upon  at  that  moment.  The  fisherman  was  swinging 
a  splendid  lobster  and  an  adder-pike  on  a  string  in  his  right 
hand,  while  in  the  left  he  carried  his  fishing  tackle.  We 
called  to  him,  with  a  view  to  buying  his  fish.  The  same  idea 
that  occurred  to  us  both  found  expression  in  a  smile,  to  which 
I  replied  by  a  light  pressure  of  the  arm  that  lay  in  mine  as  I 
drew  it  closer  to  my  heart. 

It  was  one  of  those  nothings  that  memory  afterwards  weaves 
into  poems,  when  by  the  fireside  our  thoughts  turn  to  the  hour 
when  that  nothing  so  moved  us,  and  the  place  rises  before  us 
seen  through  a  mirage  which  as  yet  has  not  been  investigated, 
a  magical  illusion  that  often  invests  material  things  about  us 
during  those  moments  when  life  flows  swiftly  and  our  hearts 
are  full.    The  most  beautiful  places  are  only  what  we  make  them. 


362  A   SEASIDE    TRAGEDY. 

What  man  is  there,  with  something  of  a  poet  in  him, 
who  does  not  find  that  some  fragment  of  rock  holds  a  larger 
place  in  his  memories  than  famous  views  in  many  lands  which 
he  has  made  costly  journeyings  to  see?  Beside  that  rock 
what  thoughts  surged  through  him  !  There  he  lived  through 
a  whole  life  ;  there  fears  were  dissipated,  and  gleams  of  hope 
shone  into  the  depths  of  his  soul.  At  that  moment  the  sun, 
as  if  sympathizing  with  those  thoughts  of  love  or  of  the 
future,  cast  a  glow  of  light  and  warmth  over  the  tawny  sides 
of  the  rock ;  his  eyes  were  drawn  to  a  mountain  flower  here 
and  there  on  its  sides,  and  the  crannies  and  rifts  grew  larger 
in  the  silence  and  peace ;  the  mass,  so  dark  in  reality,  took 
the  hue  of  his  dreams;  and  then  how  beautiful  it  was  with  its 
scanty  plant  life,  its  pungent-scented  camomile  flowers,  its 
velvet  fronds  of  maiden-hair  fern  !  How  splendidly  decked 
for  a  prolonged  festival  of  human  powers  exultant  in  their 
strength  !  Once  already  the  Lake  of  Bienne,  seen  from  the 
island  of  Saint-Pierre,  had  so  spoken  to  me ;  perhaps  the  rock 
at  Croisic  will  be  the  last  of  these  joys.  But,  then,  what  will 
become  of  Pauline? 

"  You  have  had  a  fine  catch  this  morning,  good  man,"  I 
said  to  the  fisherman. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  answered,  coming  to  a  stand;  and  we  saw 
his  face,  swarthy  with  exposure  to  the  sun's  rays  that  beat 
down  on  the  surface  of  the  sea.  The  expression  of  his  face 
told  of  the  patient  resignation  and  the  simple  manners  of 
fisher-folk.  There  was  no  roughness  in  the  man's  voice;  he 
had  a  kindly  mouth,  and  there  was  an  indefinable  something 
about  him — ambitionless,  starved,  and  stunted.  We  should 
have  been  disappointed  if  he  had  looked  otherwise. 

"  Where  will  you  sell  the  fish?  " 

"In  the  town." 

"  What  will  they  give  you  for  the  lobster  ?  " 

"  Fifteen  sous." 

"  And  for  the  adder-pike  ?  " 


A   SEASIDE    TRAGEDY.  363 

"Twenty  sous." 

"  Why  does  it  cost  so  much  more  than  the  lobster?  " 

**  Oh  !  the  adder-pike"  (he  called  it  an  ^//<rr-pike)  "is 
much  more  delicate,  sir !  And  then  they  are  as  spiteful  as 
monkeys,  and  very  hard  to  catch." 

"Will  you  let  us  have  them  both  for  five  francs?"  asked 
Pauline.     The  man  stood  stock-still  with  astonishment. 

"  You  shall  not  have  them  !  "  I  cried,  laughing.  "  I  bid  ten 
francs  for  them.  Emotions  should  be  paid  for  at  a  proper 
rate." 

"  Quite  right,"  returned  she ;  "  but  I  mean  to  have  them. 
I  bid  ten  francs  two  sous  for  them." 

"Ten  sous." 

"  Twelve  francs." 

"  Fifteen  francs." 

"  Fifteen  francs  fifty  centimes,"  said  she. 

"A  hundred  francs." 

"A  hundred  and  fifty." 

I  bowed.  We  were  not  rich  enough  just  then  to  bid  against 
each  other  any  longer.  Our  poor  fisherman  was  mystified, 
not  knowing  whether  to  be  annoyed  or  to  give  himself  up  to 
joy ;  but  we  helped  him  out  of  his  difficulty  by  telling  him 
where  we  lodged,  and  bidding  him  take  the  lobster  and  the 
adder-pike  to  our  landlady. 

"Is  that  how  you  make  a  living?"  I  asked,  wondering 
how  he  came  to  be  so  poor. 

"  It  is  about  all  I  can  do,  and  it  is  a  very  hard  life,"  he  said. 
"  Shore  fishing  is  a  chancy  trade  when  you  have  neither  boat 
nor  nets  and  must  do  it  with  hooks  and  tackle.  You  have 
to  wait  for  the  tide,  you  see,  for  the  fish  or  the  shell-fish,  while 
those  who  do  things  on  a  large  scale  put  out  to  sea.  It  is  so 
hard  to  make  a  living  at  it  that  I  am  the  only  shore-fisher  in 
these  parts.  For  whole  days  together  I  get  nothing  at  all. 
For  if  you  are  to  catch  anything,  an  adder-pike  must  fall 
asleep  and  get  left  by  the  tide,  like  this  one  here,  or  a  lobster 


364  A    SEASIDE    TRAGEDY. 

must  be  fool  enough  to  stick  to  the  rocks.  Sometimes  some 
bass  come  up  with  a  high  tide,  and  then  I  get  hold  of 
them." 

"And,  after  all,  taking  one  thing  with  another,  what  do 
you  make  each  day  ?  " 

**  Eleven  or  twelve  sous.  I  could  get  on  if  I  had  no  one 
but  myself,  but  I  have  my  father  to  keep,  and  the  old  man 
can't  help  me;  he  is  blind." 

The  words  came  from  him  quite  simply ;  Pauline  and  I 
looked  at  each  other  in  silence. 

"  Have  you  a  wife  or  a  sweetheart  ?  " 

He  glanced  at  us  with  one  of  the  most  piteous  expressions 
that  I  have  ever  seen  on  a  human  face,  and  answered,  "  If  I 
had  a  wife,  I  should  have  to  turn  my  old  father  adrift ;  I  could 
not  keep  him  and  keep  a  wife  and  children  too." 

"But,  my  good  fellow,  why  don't  you  try  to  earn  some- 
thing more  by  carrying  salt  in  the  haven  or  by  working  in 
the  salt  pits?" 

"Ah  !  sir,  I  could  not  stand  the  work  for  three  months. 
I  am  not  strong  enough,  and  if  anything  happened  to  me 
my  father  would  have  to  beg.  The  only  kind  of  work 
for  me  is  something  that  wants  a  little  skill  and  a  lot  of 
patience." 

"  But  how  can  two  people  live  on  twelve  sous  a  day  ?  " 

"  Oh,  sir,  we  live  on  buckwheat  bannocks  and  the  barnacles 
I  break  off  the  rocks." 

"  How  old  are  you  ?  " 

"Thirty-seven." 

"  Have  you  always  stopped  here  ?  " 

"  I  once  went  to  Gu6rande  to  be  drawn  for  the  army,  and 
once  to  Savenay  to  be  examined  by  some  gentlemen  who 
measured  me.  If  I  had  been  an  inch  taller,  they  would  have 
made  me  into  a  soldier.  The  first  long  march  would  have  put 
an  end  to  me,  and  my  poor  father  would  have  been  begging 
his  bread  this  day." 


A  SEASIDE   TRAGEDY.  365 

I  have  imagined  many  tragedies,  and  Pauline,  who  passes 
her  life  by  the  side  of  a  man  who  suffers  as  I  do,  is  used  to 
strong  emotion,  yet  neither  of  us  had  ever  heard  words  so 
touching  as  these  of  the  fisherman.  We  walked  on  for  sev- 
eral steps  in  silence,  fathoming  the  dumb  depths  of  this 
stranger's  life,  admiring  the  nobleness  of  a  sacrifice  made 
unconsciously  ;  the  strength  of  his  weakness  made  us  marvel, 
his  reckless  generosity  humbled  us.  A  vision  of  the  life  of 
this  poor  creature  rose  before  me,  a  life  of  pure  instinct,  a 
being  chained  to  his  rock  like  a  convict  fettered  to  a  cannon- 
ball,  seeking  for  shell-fish  to  gain  a  livelihood,  and  upheld  in 
that  long  patience  of  twenty  years  by  a  single  feeling ! 
How  many  hopes  disappointed  by  a  squall  or  a  change  in 
the  weather !  And  while  he  was  hanging  over  the  edge  of 
a  block  of  granite  with  arms  outstretched  like  a  Hindoo 
fakir,  his  old  father,  crouching  on  his  stool  in  the  dark, 
silent  hut,  was  waiting  for  the  coarsest  of  the  shell-fish,  and 
bread,  if  the  sea  should  please. 

"  Do  you  drink  wine  now  and  then?"  I  asked. 

"  Three  or  four  times  a  year." 

"  Very  well,  you  shall  drink  wine  to-day,  you  and  your 
father  ;  and  we  will  send  you  a  white  loaf." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  sir." 

"  We  will  give  you  the  wherewithal  for  dinner,  if  you  care 
lo  show  us  the  way  along  the  shore  to  Batz,  where  we  shall 
see  the  tower  that  gives  you  a  view  of  the  harbor  and  the 
shore  between  Batz  and  Croisic." 

"With  pleasure,"  said  he.  "Go  straight  on,  follow  the 
road  you  are  in  ;  I  will  overtake  you  again  when  I  have  gotten 
rid  of  my  tackle." 

We  both  made  the  same  sign  of  assent,  and  he  rushed  off 
towards  the  town  in  great  spirits.  We  were  still  as  we  had 
been  before,  but  the  meeting  had  dimmed  our  joyousness. 

"Poor  man  !  "  Pauline  exclaimed,  in  the  tone  that  takes 
from  a  woman's  compassion  any  trace  of  the  something  that 


366  A  SEASIDE    TRAGEDY. 

wounds  us  in  pity,  "  it  makes  one  ashamed  to  feel  happy 
when  he  is  so  miserable,  doesn't  it  ?  " 

"There  is  nothing  more  bitter  than  helpless  wishing,"  I 
answered.  "  The  two  poor  creatures,  this  father  and  son, 
could  no  more  understand  how  keen  our  sympathy  has  been 
than  the  world  could  understand  the  beauty  in  that  life  of 
theirs,  for  they  are  laying  up  treasures  in  heaven." 

"  Poor  country  !  "  she  said,  pointing  out  to  me  the  heaps 
of  cow-dung  spread  along  a  field  under  a  wall  of  unhewn 
stones.  "I  asked  why  they  did  that,  and  a  peasant  woman 
who  was  spreading  it  said  that  she  was  *  making  firewood.' 
Just  imagine,  dear,  that  when  the  cow-dung  is  dry,  the  poor 
people  heap  it  up  and  light  fires  with  it.  During  the  winter 
they  sell  it,  like  blocks  of  bark  fuel.  And,  finally,  how  much 
do  you  think  the  best-paid  sempstresses  earn  ?  Five  sous  a 
day  and  their  board,"  she  went  on  after  a  pause. 

"Look,"  I  said,  "the  sea-winds  blight  or  uproot  every- 
thing ;  there  are  no  trees.  Those  who  can  afford  it  burn  the 
driftwood  and  broken-up  boats ;  it  costs  too  dear,  I  expect, 
to  bring  firewood  from  other  parts  of  Brittany  where  there  is 
so  much  timber.  It  is  a  country  without  beauty,  save  for 
great  souls,  and  those  who  have  no  hearts  could  not  live  here 
— it  is  a  land  for  poets  and  barnacles,  and  nothing  between. 
It  was  only  when  the  salt  warehouses  were  built  on  the  cliff 
that  people  came  to  live  here.  There  is  nothing  here  but 
the  sand,  the  sea  beyond  it,  and  above  us — space." 

We  had  already  passed  the  town,  and  were  crossing  the 
waste  between  Croisic  and  the  market-town  of  Batz.  Imagine, 
dear  uncle,  two  leagues  of  waste  covered  with  gleaming  sand. 
Here  and  there  a  few  rocks  raised  their  heads ;  you  might 
almost  think  that  extinct  monsters  were  crouching  among  the 
dunes.  The  waves  broke  over  the  low  ridges  along  the  margin 
of  the  sea,  till  they  looked  like  large  white  roses  floating  on 
the  surface  of  the  water  and  drifted  up  upon  the  beach.  I 
looked  across  this  savanna  that  lay  between  the  ocean  on  the 


A  SEASIDE    TRAGEDY.  367 

right  and  the  great  lagoon  on  the  left,  made  by  the  encroach- 
ing sea  between  Croisic  and  the  sandy  heights  of  Guerande, 
with  the  barren  salt  marshes  at  their  feet ;  then  I  looked  at 
Pauline,  and  asked  if  she  felt  able  to  walk  across  the  sands  in 
the  burning  sun. 

"I  have  laced  boots  on;  let  us  go  over  there,"  she  said, 
looking  towards  the  Tower  of  Batz,  which  caught  the  eye  by 
its  great  mass,  erected  there  like  a  pyramid  in  the  desert,  a 
slender  spindle-shaped  pyramid  however,  a  pyramid  so  pic- 
turesquely ornate  that  one  could  imagine  it  to  be  an  outlying 
sentinel  ruin  of  some  great  Eastern  town  laid  desolate. 

We  went  a  few  paces  further  to  reach  a  fragment  of  rock  to 
sit  in  the  shade  that  it  still  cast,  but  it  was  eleven  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  and  the  shadows  which  crept  closer  and  closer 
to  our  feet  swiftly  disappeared  altogether. 

"  How  beautiful  the  silence  is,"  she  said;  " and  how  the  mur- 
mur of  the  sea  beating  steadily  against  the  beach  deepens  it !  " 

"  If  you  surrender  your  mind  to  the  three  immensities 
around  us — the  air,  the  sea,  and  the  sands" — I  answered, 
"and  heed  nothing  but  the  monotonous  sound  of  the  ebb  and 
flow,  you  would  find  its  speech  intolerable,  for  you  would 
think  that  it  bore  the  burden  of  a  thought  that  would  over- 
whelm you.  Yesterday,  at  sunset,  I  felt  that  sensation ;  it 
crushed  me." 

"  Oh  yes,  let  us  talk,"  she  said,  after  a  long  pause.  "  No 
speaker  is  more  terrible.  I  imagine  that  I  am  discovering  the 
causes  of  the  harmonies  about  us,"  she  went  on.  "This 
landscape  that  has  but  three  contrasting  colors — the  gleam- 
ing yellow  of  the  sand,  the  blue  heavens,  and  the  changeless 
green  of  the  sea — is  great  without  anything  savage  in  its 
grandeur,  vast  but  not  desolate,  monotonous  but  not  dreary ; 
it  is  made  up  of  three  elements;  it  has  variety." 

"  Women  alone  can  render  their  impressions  like  that,"  I 
said ;  "  you  would  be  the  despair  of  a  poet,  dear  soul,  that  I 
have  read  so  well." 


368  A   SEASIDE    TRAGEDY. 

"  These  three  expressions  of  the  Infinite  glow  like  a  burning 
flame  in  the  noonday  heat,"  Pauline  said,  laughing.  "  Here 
I  can  imagine  the  poetry  and  passions  of  the  East." 

"And  I,  a  vision  of  despair." 

"Yes,"  she  said;  "  the  dune  is  a  sublime  cloister." 

We  heard  our  guide  hurrying  after  us ;  he  wore  his  holiday 
clothes.  We  asked  him  a  few  insignificant  questions;  he 
thought  he  saw  that  our  mood  had  changed,  and,  with  the  self- 
repression  that  misfortune  teaches,  he  was  silent ;  and  we  also 
— though  from  time  to  time  each  pressed  the  hand  of  the  other  to 
communicate  thoughtsand  impressions — walked  for  half  an  hour 
in  silence,  either  because  the  shimmering  heat  above  the  sands 
lay  heavily  upon  us,  or  because  the  difficulty  of  walking  ab- 
sorbed our  attention.  We  walked  hand  in  hand  like  two 
children ;  we  should  not  have  gone  a  dozen  paces  if  we  had 
walked  arm  in  arm. 

The  way  that  led  to  Batz  was  little  more  than  a  track;  the 
first  high  wind  effaced  the  ruts  or  the  dints  left  by  horses' 
hoofs ;  but  the  experienced  eyes  of  our  guide  discerned  traces 
of  cattle  and  sheep  dung  on  this  way,  which  sometimes  wound 
towards  the  sea  and  sometimes  towards  the  land,  to  avoid  the 
cliffs  on  the  one  hand  and  the  rocks  on  the  other.  It  was 
noon,  and  we  were  only  half-way. 

"  We  will  rest  there,"  I  said,  pointing  to  a  headland  where 
the  rocks  rose  high  enough  to  make  it  probable  that  we  might 
find  a  cave  among  them.  The  fisherman,  following  the  direc- 
tion of  my  finger,  jerked  his  head. 

"  There  is  some  one  there  !  Any  one  coming  from  market 
at  Batz  to  Croisic,  or  from  Croisic  to  Batz,  always  goes  round 
some  way  so  as  not  to  pass  near  the  place." 

He  spoke  in  a  low  voice  that  suggested  a  mystery. 

"  Then  is  there  a  robber  there,  a  murderer  ?  " 

Our  guide's  only  answer  was  a  deep  breath  that  left  us  twice 
as  curious  as  before. 

**  If  we  go  past,  will  any  harm  come  to  us  ?  " 


A   SEASIDE    TRAGEDY.  369 

"Oh,  no!" 

"  Will  you  go  with  us  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  !  " 

"  Then  we  shall  go,  if  you  will  assure  us  that  there  is  no 
danger  for  us." 

"  I  do  not  say  that,"  the  fisherman  answered  quickly;  "I 
only  say  that  the  one  who  is  there  will  say  nothing  to  you, 
and  will  do  you  no  harm.  Oh,  good  heavens  !  he  will  not 
so  much  as  stir  from  his  place." 

"Then  who  is  it?" 

"A  man  !  " 

Never  were  two  syllables  uttered  in  such  a  tragical  fashion. 

At  that  moment  we  were  some  twenty  paces  away  from  the 
ridge  about  which  the  sea  was  lapping.  Our  guide  took  the 
way  that  avoided  the  rocks,  and  we  held  straight  on  for  them, 
but  Pauline  took  my  arm.  Our  guide  quickened  his  pace  so 
as  to  reach  the  spot  where  the  two  ways  met  again  at  the  same 
time  as  ourselves.  He  thought,  no  doubt,  that  when  we  had 
seen  "  the  man,"  we  should  hurry  from  the  place.  This 
kindled  our  curiosity ;  it  became  so  strong  that  our  hearts 
beat  fast,  as  if  a  feeling  of  terror  possessed  us  both.  In  spite 
of  the  heat  of  the  day  and  a  certain  weariness  after  our  walk 
over  the  sands,  our  souls  were  steeped  in  the  ineffable  languid 
calm  of  an  ecstasy  that  possessed  us  both,  brimming  with  pure 
joy,  that  can  only  be  compared  with  the  delight  of  hearing 
exquisite  music — music  like  the  Andiamo  mio  ben  of  Mozart. 
Wlien  two  souls  are  blended  in  one  pure  thought,  are  they 
not  like  two  sweet  voices  singing  together  ?  Before  you  can 
appreciate  the  emotion  that  thrilled  us  both,  you  must  like- 
wise share  in  the  half-voluptuous  mood  in  which  the  morn- 
ing's experiences  had  steeped  us. 

If  you  had  watched  for  a  while  some  daintily-colored  wood- 
dove  on  a  swaying  branch,  above  a  spring,  you  would  utter  a 
cry  of  distress  if  you  saw  a  hawk  pounce  down,  bury  claws  of 
steel  in  its  heart,  and  bear  it  away  with  the  murderous  speed 
24 


370  A   SEASIDE    TRAGEDY. 

with  which  powder  wings  a  bullet.  We  had  scarcely  set  foot 
in  the  space  before  the  cavern,  a  sort  of  esplanade  sonae  hun- 
dred feet  above  the  sea,  protected  from  the  surge  by  the  steep 
rocks  that  sloped  to  the  water's  edge,  when  we  were  conscious 
of  an  electric  thrill,  something  like  the  shock  of  a  sudden 
awakening  by  some  noise  in  a  silent  night.  Beth  of  us  had 
seen  a  man  sitting  there  on  a  block  of  granite,  and  he  had 
looked  at  us. 

That  glance,  from  two  bloodshot  eyes,  was  like  the  flash  of 
fire  from  a  cannon,  and  his  stoical  immobility  could  only  be 
compared  to  the  changeless  aspect  of  the  granite  slabs  that  lay 
about  him.  Slowly  his  eyes  turned  towards  us ;  his  body  as 
rigid  and  motionless  as  if  he  had  been  turned  to  stone ;  then 
after  that  glance,  that  made  such  a  powerful  impression  upon 
our  minds,  his  eyes  turned  to  gaze  steadily  over  the  vast  stretch 
of  sea,  in  spite  of  the  glare  reflected  from  it,  as  the  eagle,  it  is 
said,  gazes  at  the  sun  without  lowering  his  eyelids,  nor  did  he 
look  up  again  from  the  waves. 

Try  to  call  up  before  you,  dear  uncle,  some  gnarled  oak 
stump,  with  all  its  branches  lately  lopped  away,  rearing  its 
head,  like  a  strange  apparition,  by  the  side  of  a  lonely  road, 
and  you  will  have  a  clear  idea  of  this  man  that  we  saw.  The 
form  of  an  age-worn  Hercules,  the  face  of  Olympian  Jove 
bearing  marks  of  the  ravages  of  time,  of  a  life  of  rough  toil 
upon  the  sea,  of  sorrow  within,  of  coarse  food,  and  darkened 
as  if  blasted  by  lightning.  I  saw  the  muscles,  like  a  frame- 
work of  iron,  standing  out  upon  his  hard  shaggy  hands,  and 
all  things  else  about  him  indicated  a  vigorous  constitution. 
In  a  corner  of  the  cavern  I  noticed  a  fairly  large  heap  of  moss, 
and  on  a  rough  slab  of  granite,  that  did  duty  as  a  table,  a 
piece  of  a  round  loaf  lay  over  the  mouth  of  a  stoneware  pitcher. 

Never  among  my  visions  of  the  life  led  in  the  desert  by 
early  Christian  anchorites  had  I  pictured  a  face  more  awe- 
inspiring,  more  grand  and  terrible  in  repentance  than  this. 
And  even  you,  dear  uncle,  in  your  experience  of  the  confes- 


A  SEASIDE    TRAGEDY.  871 

sional,  have,  perhaps,  never  seen  a  penitence  so  grand ;  for 
this  remorse  seemed  to  be  drowned  in  a  sea  of  prayers,  of 
prayers  that  flowed  for  ever  from  a  dumb  despair.  This  fish- 
erman, this  rough  Breton  sailor,  was  sublime  through  a  thought 
hidden  within  him.  Had  those  eyes  shed  tears?  Had  the 
hand  of  that  rough-hewn  statue  ever  struck  a  blow  ?  A  fierce 
honesty  was  stamped  upon  a  rugged  forehead  where  force  of 
character  had  still  left  some  traces  of  the  gentleness  that  is 
the  prerogative  of  all  true  strength.  Was  that  brow,  so  scored 
and  furrowed  with  wrinkles,  compatible  with  a  great  heart? 
How  came  this  man  to  abide  with  the  granite  ?  How  had  the 
granite  entered  into  him  ?  Where  did  the  granite  end  and  the 
man  begin  ?  A  whole  crowd  of  thoughts  passed  through  our 
minds ;  and,  as  our  guide  had  expected,  we  went  by  quickly 
and  in  silence.  When  he  saw  us  again,  we  were  either  per- 
turbed with  a  sense  of  dread  or  overcome  by  the  strangeness 
of  this  thing,  but  he  did  not  remind  us  that  his  prediction  had 
come  true. 

**  Did  you  see  him  ?  "  he  asked. 

''What  is  the  man?" 

"  They  call  him  the  man  under  a  vow." 

You  can  readily  imagine  how  we  both  turned  to  our  fisher- 
man at  these  words.  He  was  a  simple-minded  fellow ;  he  un- 
derstood our  mute  inquiry ;  and  this  is  the  story  which  I  have 
tried  to  tell,  as  far  as  possible,  in  the  homely  language  in 
which  he  told  it. 

' '  The  Croisic  folk  and  the  people  at  Batz  think  that  he  has 
been  guilty  of  something,  madame,  and  that  he  is  doing  a 
penance  laid  upon  him  by  a  famous  rector,  to  whom  he  went 
to  confess,  beyond  Nantes.  There  are  some  who  think  that 
Cambremer  (that  is  his  name)  is  unlucky,  and  that  it  brings 
bad  luck  to  pass  through  the  air  he  breathes,  so  a  good  many 
of  them  before  going  round  the  rocks  will  stop  to  see  which 
way  the  wind  blows.  If  it  blows  from  the  nor'west,"  he  said, 
pointing  in  that  direction  with  his  finger,  "they  would  not 


872  A  SEASIDE    TRAGEDY. 

go  on  if  they  had  set  out  to  seek  a  bit  of  the  True  Cross ; 
they  turn  back  again ;  they  are  afraid.  Other  folk,  rich 
people  in  Croisic,  say  that  Cambremer  once  made  a  vow,  and 
that  is  why  he  is  called  'the  man  under  a  vow.'  He  never 
leaves  the  place ;  he  is  there  night  and  day. 

"There  is  some  show  of  reason  for  these  tales,"  he  added, 
turning  round  to  point  out  to  us  something  that  had  escaped 
our  notice.  "You  see  that  wooden  cross  that  he  has  set  up 
there  on  the  left ;  that  is  to  show  that  he  has  put  himself 
under  the  protection  of  God  and  the  Holy  Virgin  and  the 
saints.  He  would  not  be  respected  as  he  is,  if  it  were  not 
that  the  terror  people  have  of  him  makes  him  as  safe  as  if  he 
had  a  guard  of  soldiers. 

"He  has  not  said  a  word  since  he  went  into  prison  in  the 
open  air.  He  lives  on  bread  and  water  that  his  brother's 
little  girl  brings  him  every  morning,  a  little  slip  of  a  thing 
twelve  years  old ;  he  has  left  all  he  has  to  her,  and  a  pretty 
child  she  is,  as  gentle  as  a  lamb,  and  full  of  fun,  a  dear  little 
pet.  She  has  blue  eyes  as  long  as  that,''  he  went  on,  holding 
out  his  thumb,  "and  hair  like  a  cherub's.  When  you  begin 
— *  I  say,  P^rotte ' — (that  is  what  we  say  for  Pierrette,''  he  said, 
interrupting  himself;  "Saint  Pierre  is  her  patron  saint,  Cam- 
bremer's  name  is  Pierre  and  he  was  her  godfather) — *  I  say, 
P6rotte,  what  does  your  uncle  say  to' you?  ' — *  He  says  noth- 
ing,'says  she,  'nothing  whatever,  nothing  at  all.' — 'Well, 
then,  what  does  he  do  when  you  go?' — 'He  kisses  me  on 
the  forehead  of  a  Sunday.' — 'Aren't  you  afraid  of  him?* 
— 'Not  a  bit,'  says  she;  'he  is  my  godfather.' — He  will 
not  have  any  one  else  bring  his  food.  Perotte  says  that 
he  smiles  when  she  comes ;  but  you  might  as  well  say  that  the 
sun  shone  in  a  fog,  for  he  is  as  gloomy  as  a  sea-mist,  they 
say." 

"But  you  are  exciting  our  curiosity  without  satisfying  it," 
I  broke  in.  "Do  you  know  what  brought  him  there?  Was 
it  trouble,  or  remorse,  or  crime,  or  is  he  mad,  or  what  ?  " 


A   SEASIDE    TRAGEDY.  373 

**  Eh  !  sir,  there  is  hardly  a  soul  save  my  father  and  me 
that  knows  the  rights  of  the  matter.  My  mother  that's  gone 
was  in  service  in  the  house  of  the  justice  that  Cambremer 
went  to.  The  priest  told  him  to  go  to  a  justice,  and  only 
gave  him  absolution  on  that  condition,  if  the  tale  is  true  that 
they  tell  in  the  haven.  My  poor  mother  overheard  Cam- 
bremer without  meaning  to  do  so,  because  the  kitchen  was 
alongside  the  sitting-room  in  the  justice's  house.  So  she 
heard.  She  is  dead,  and  the  justice  has  gone  too.  My  mother 
made  us  promise,  my  father  and  me,  never  to  let  on  to  the 
people  round  about ;  and  I  can  tell  you  this,  every  hair 
bristled  up  on  my  head  that  night  when  my  mother  told  us  the 
story " 

"  Well,  then,  tell  it  to  us  ;  we  will  not  repeat  it." 

The  fisherman  looked  at  us  both — then  he  went  on,  some- 
thing after  this  fashion — 

**  Pierre  Cambremer,  whom  you  saw  yonder,  is  the  oldest 
of  the  family.  The  Cambremers  have  been  seamen  from 
father  to  son ;  you  see,  their  name  means  that  the  sea  has 
always  bent  under  them.  The  one  you  saw  had  a  fishing- 
boat,  several  fishing-boats,  and  the  sardine-fishery  was  his 
trade,  though  he  did  deep-sea  fishing  as  well  for  the  dealers. 
He  would  have  fitted  out  a  bigger  vessel,  and  gone  to  the 
cod-fishing,  if  he  had  not  been  so  fond  of  his  wife ;  a  fine 
woman  she  was,  a  Brouin  from  Guerande,  a  strapping  girl 
with  a  warm  heart.  She  was  so  fond  of  Cambremer  that  she 
would  never  let  her  man  go  away  from  her  for  longer  than  for 
the  sardine-fishing.  They  lived  down  yonder,  there!  "  said 
our  fisherman,  standing  on  a  hillock  to  point  out  to  us  an 
islet  in  the  little  inland  sea  between  the  dunes  where  we  were 
walking  and  the  salt  marshes  at  Gu6rande.  "  Do  you  see  the 
house?     It  belonged  to  him. 

"  Jacquette  Brouin  and  Cambremer  had  but  one  child,  a 
boy,  whom  they  loved  like — what  shall  I  say? — like  an  only 
child ;  they  were  crazy  over  him.     Their  little  Jacques  might 


874  A   SEASIDE   TRAGEDY. 

have  done  something  (asking  your  pardon)  into  the  soup,  and 
they  would  have  thought  it  sweetened  it.  Times  and  times 
again  we  used  to  see  them  buying  the  finest  toys  at  the  fair 
for  him !  There  was  no  sense  in  it — everybody  told  them  so. 
Little  Cambremer  found  out  that  he  could  do  as  he  liked  with 
them,  and  he  grew  as  willful  as  a  red  donkey.  If  any  one 
told  his  father,  'Your  boy  has  all  but  killed  little  So-and-so,' 
Cambremer  used  to  laugh  and  say,  *  Bah  !  he  will  be  a  meddle- 
some sailor  !  He  will  command  the  king's  ships.'  Another 
would  say,  *  Pierre  Cambremer,  do  you  know  that  your  lad 
put  out  Pougaud's  little  girl's  eye?'  *  He  will  be  one  for 
the  girls,'  Pierre  would  say.  It  was  all  right  in  his  eyes.  By 
the  time  the  little  rascal  was  ten  years  old  he  knocked  every- 
body about,  and  twisted  the  fowls'  necks  for  fun,  and  ripped 
open  the  pigs  ',  he  was  as  bloodthirsty  as  a  weasel.  *  He  will 
make  a  famous  soldier  ! '  said  Cambremer ;  *  he  has  a  liking 
for  bloodshed.' 

"You  see,  I  myself  remember  all  this,"  said  our  fisherman ; 
**and  so  does  Cambremer,"  he  added,  after  a  pause. 

"  Jacques  Cambremer  grew  up  to  be  fifteen  or  sixteen  and 
he  was — well,  a  bully.  He  would  go  off  and  amuse  himself 
at  Gu6rande,  and  cut  a  figure  at  Savenay.  He  must  have 
money  for  that.  So  he  began  robbing  his  mother,  and  she 
did  not  dare  to  tell  her  husband.  Cambremer  was  so  honest 
that  if  any  one  had  overpaid  him  twopence  on  an  account,  he 
would  have  gone  twenty  leagues  to  pay  it  back.  At  last  one 
day  the  mother  had  nothing  left.  While  the  father  was  away 
at  the  fishing,  Jacques  made  off  with  the  dresser,  the  plenish- 
ing, and  the  sheets  and  the  linen,  and  left  nothing  but  the 
four  walls ;  he  had  sold  all  the  things  in  the  house  to  pay  for 
his  carryings-on  at  Nantes.  The  poor  woman  cried  about  it 
day  and  night.  She  would  have  to  tell  his  father  when  he 
came  back,  and  she  was  afraid  of  the  father ;  not  for  herself 
though,  not  she !     So  when  Pierre  Cambremer  came  back  and 


A  SEASIDE    TRAGEDY.  375 

saw  his  house  furnished  with  things  the  neighbors  had  loaned 
her,  he  asked — 

"  *  What  does  this  mean  ? ' 

"And  the  poor  thing,  more  dead  than  alive,  answered, 
*We  have  been  robbed.' 

"  *  What  has  become  of  Jacques  ?  ' 

**  *  Jacques  is  away  on  a  spree  ! ' 

**  Nobody  knew  where  the  rogue  had  gone. 

"  *  He  is  too  fond  of  his  fun,'  said  Pierre. 

'*  Six  months  afterwards  the  poor  father  heard  that  Jacques 
had  gotten  into  trouble  at  Nantes.  He  goes  over  on  foot — 
it  is  quicker  than  going  by  sea — puts  his  hand  on  his  son's 
shoulder,  and  fetches  him  home.  He  did  not  ask  him, 
*  What  have  you  been  doing  ?  ' 

"  *  If  you  don't  keep  steady  here  for  a  couple  of  years  with 
your  mother  and  me,'  he  said,  *  and  help  with  the  fishing, 
and  behave  yourself  like  a  decent  fellow,  you  will  have  me  to 
reckon  with  !  ' 

"  The  harebrained  youngster,  counting  on  the  weakness  his 
father  and  mother  had  for  him,  made  a  grimace  at  his  father, 
and  thereupon  Pierre  fetched  him  a  slap  in  the  face  that  laid 
up  Jacques  for  six  months  afterwards. 

"The  poor  mother  was  breaking  her  heart  all  the  time. 
One  night  she  was  lying  quietly  asleep  by  her  husband's  side, 
when  she  heard  a  noise  and  sat  up,  and  got  a  stab  in  the  arm 
from  a  knife.  She  shrieked ;  and  when  they  had  struck  a 
light,  Pierre  Cambremer  found  that  his  wife  was  wounded. 
He  thought  it  was  a  robber,  as  if  there  were  any  robbers  in 
our  part  of  the  world,  when  you  can  carry  ten  thousand  francs 
in  gold  from  Croisic  to  Saint  Nazaire,  and  no  one  would  so 
much  as  ask  you  what  you  had  under  your  arm.  Pierre  looked 
about  for  Jacques,  and  could  not  find  him  anywhere.  In  the 
morning  the  unnatural  wretch  had  the  face  to  come  back  and 
say  that  he  had  been  at  Batz. 

*'  I  should  tell  you  that  the  mother  did  not  know  where  to 


376  A  SEASIDE    TRAGEDY. 

hide  her  money.  Cambreraer  himself  used  to  leave  his  with 
M.  Dupotet  at  Croisic.  Their  son's  wild  ways  had  eaten  up 
crowns  and  francs  and  gold  louis ;  they  were  ruined,  as  you 
may  say,  and  it  was  hard  on  folk  who  had  about  twelve  thou- 
sand livres,  including  their  little  island.  Nobody  knew  how 
much  Cambreraer  had  paid  down  at  Nantes  to  have  his  son 
back.  Their  luck  went  from  bad  to  worse.  One  of  Cam- 
bremer's  brothers  was  unfortunate,  and  wanted  help.  Pierre 
told  him,  to  comfort  him,  that  Jacques  and  Perotte  (the 
younger  brother's  girl)  should  be  married  some  day.  Then, 
to  put  iiim  in  the  way  of  earning  his  bread,  he  took  him  lo 
help  in  the  fishing  -,  for  Joseph  Cambreraer  was  obliged  to 
work  with  his  own  hands.  His  wife  had  died  of  the  fever, 
and  he  had  to  pay  sorae  one  else  to  nurse  Perotte  till  she  was 
weaned.  Pierre  Cambremer*s  wife  owed  as  much  as  a  hundred 
francs  to  different  people  on  the  baby's  account  for  linen  and 
things,  and  two  or  three  months  to  big  Frelu,  who  had  a  child 
by  Simon  Gaudry,  and  nursed  Perotte.  La  Cambreraer,  too, 
had  sewn  a  Spanish  doubloon  into  the  flock  of  her  raattress, 
and  written  on  it,  'For  Perotte.'  You  see,  she  had  had  a 
good  education,  and  could  write  like  a  clerk ;  she  had  taught 
her  son  to  read  too — that  was  the  ruin  of  him. 

"  Nobody  knew  how  it  came  about,  but  that  scoundrel 
Jacques  got  wind  of  the  gold  and  took  it,  and  went  off  to  get 
drunk  at  Croisic.  Old  Cambreraer,  just  as  if  it  had  happened 
on  purpose,  came  in  with  his  boat ;  and  as  he  carae  up  to  the 
house  he  saw  a  scrap  of  paper  floating  about.  He  picked  it 
up  and  took  it  in  to  his  wife ;  and  she  dropped  down,  for  she 
knew  her  own  handwriting.  Cambreraer  said  not  a  word. 
He  went  over  to  Croisic,  and  heard  there  that  his  son  was  in 
the  billiard-room.  Then  he  sent  for  the  good  woman  who 
kept  the  caf6,  and  said  to  her — 

"  '  I  told  Jacques  not  to  change  a  piece  of  gold  that  he  will 
pay  his  score  with :  let  rae  have  it ;  I  will  wait  at  the  door, 
and  you  shall  have  silver  for  it.* 


A   SEASIDE    TRAGEDY.  877 

**  The  woman  of  the  house  brought  him  out  the  gold-piece. 
Cambremer  took  it. 

"  '  Good  ! '  said  he,  and  he  went  away  home. 

"All  the  town  knew  that.  But  this  I  know,  and  the  rest 
of  them  have  only  a  sort  of  general  guess  at  how  it  was.  He 
told  his  wife  to  set  their  room  to  rights ;  it  is  on  the  ground 
floor.  He  kindled  a  fire  on  the  hearth,  he  lighted  two  candles, 
and  put  two  chairs  on  one  side  of  the  fireplace,  and  a  three- 
legged  stool  on  the  other.  Then  he  bade  his  wife  put  out  the 
suit  he  was  married  in,  and  to  put  on  her  wedding-gown.  He 
dressed  himself;  and  then  when  he  was  dressed,  he  went  out 
for  his  brother,  and  told  him  to  keep  watch  outside  the  house, 
and  give  warning  if  he  heard  any  sound  on  either  beach,  here 
by  the  sea  or  yonder  on  the  salt  marshes  at  Guerande.  When 
he  thought  his  wife  must  be  dressed,  he  went  in  again ;  he 
loaded  a  gun  and  hid  it  in  the  chimney-corner. 

"Back  comes  Jacques  to  the  house.  It  was  late  when  he 
came ;  he  had  been  drinking  and  gambling  up  to  ten  o'clock ; 
he  had  got  some  one  to  ferry  him  over  at  Carnouf  point.  His 
uncle  heard  him  hail  the  boat,  and  went  to  look  for  him  along 
the  side  of  the  salt  marshes,  and  passed  him  without  saying 
anything. 

"  When  Jacques  came  in,  his  father  spoke  : 

**  *  Sit  you  down  there,*  he  said,  pointing  to  the  stool.  *  You 
are  before  your  father  and  mother ;  you  have  sinned  against 
them,  and  they  are  your  judges.' 

'•'  Jacques  began  to  bellow,  for  Cambremer's  face  twitched 
strangely.     The  mother  sat  there,  stiff  as  an  oar. 

"  *  If  you  make  any  noise,  if  you  stir,  if  you  don't  sit  straight 
up  like  a  mast  on  your  stool,'  said  Pierre,  pointing  his  gun  at 
him,  '  I  will  shoot  you  like  a  dog.' 

"Cambremer's  son  grew  mute  as  a  fish,  and  all  this  time 
the  mother  said  not  a  word. 

"  *  Here  is  a  bit  of  paper  that  wrapped  up  a  Spanish  gold  coin. 
That  coin  was   in  your  mother's   mattress.     No  one  knew 


S78  A  SEASIDE    TRAGEDY. 

where  it  was  except  your  mother.  I  found  the  bit  of  paper 
floating  on  the  water  when  I  came  in.  Only  this  evening  you 
changed  the  piece  of  Spanish  gold  at  Mother  Fleurant's,  and 
your  mother  cannot  find  the  coin  in  her  mattress.  Explain 
yourself.' 

"  Jacques  said  that  he  had  not  taken  his  mother's  money, 
and  that  he  had  had  the  coin  at  Nantes. 

"  '  So  much  the  better,'  said  Pierre.  '  How  can  you  prove 
it?' 

"'Idid  have  it.' 

"  *  You  did  not  take  your  mother's  coin  ? ' 

*"No.' 

**  *  Can  you  swear  it  on  your  salvation  ? ' 

**  He  was  just  going  to  swear,  when  his  mother  looked  up 
and  said — 

**  'Jacques,  my  child,  take  care;  do  not  swear  if  it  is  not 
true.  You  can  repent  and  mend  ;  there  is  still  time,'  and  she 
cried  at  that. 

**  *  You  are  a  So-and-so,'  said  he  ;  *  you  have  always  tried  to 
ruin  me.' 

"Cambremer  turned  white,  and  said,  'What  you  have  just 
said  to  your  mother  goes  to  swell  your  account.  Now,  come 
to  the  point !     Will  you  swear? ' 

"'Yes.' 

'"Stop  a  bit,'  said  Pierre,  'was  there  a  cross  on  your 
coin  like  the  mark  the  sardine  merchant  put  on  the  coin  he 
paid  me  ? ' 

"Jacques  grew  sober  at  that,  and  began  to  cry. 

"  *  That  is  enough  talk,*  said  Pierre.  '  I  say  nothing  of 
what  you  have  done  before — I  had  no  mind  that  a  Cambremer 
should  die  in  the  market-place  at  Croisic.  Say  your  prayers, 
and  let  us  be  quick !  A  priest  is  coming  to  hear  your  confes- 
sion.' 

**  The  mother  had  gone  out  of  the  room  that  she  might  not 
hear  her  son's  doom.     As  soon  as  she  went  out,  Joseph  Cam- 


A   SEASIDE    TRAGEDY.  879 

bremer,  the  uncle,  came  in  with  the  rector  from  Piriac.  To 
him  Jacques  would  not  open  his  mouth.  He  was  shrewd ;  he 
knew  his  father  well  enough  to  feel  sure  that  he  would  not  kill 
him  till  he  had  confessed. 

"'Thanks.  Pardon  us,  sir,'  Cambremer  said  to  the 
priest  when  Jacques  continued  obstinate.  '  I  meant  to  give 
my  son  a  lesson,  and  I  beg  you  to  say  nothing  about  it.  As 
for  you,'  he  went  on,  turning  to  Jacques,  '  if  you  do  not 
mend  your  ways,  next  time  you  go  wrong  shall  be  the  last, 
and  shrift  or  no  shrift,  I  will  make  an  end  of  it.' 

**  He  sent  him  off  to  bed.  The  young  fellow  believed  him, 
and  fancied  that  he  could  make  things  right  with  his  father. 
He  slept.  His  father  sat  up.  When  he  saw  his  son  fast 
asleep,  he  covered  the  young  fellow's  mouth  with  hemp,  bound 
it  tightly  round  with  a  strip  of  sailcloth ;  then  he  tied  him 
hand  and  foot.  He  writhed,  he  *  shed  tears  of  blood,'  so 
Cambremer  told  the  justice.  What  would  you  have !  His 
mother  flung  herself  at  the  father's  feet. 

'*  '  He  is  doomed,'  said  Cambremer ;  *  you  will  help  me  to 
put  him  into  the  boat.' 

"  She  would  not  help  him,  and  Cambremer  did  it  alone  j 
he  fastened  him  down  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  and  tied  a 
stone  round  his  neck,  put  out  of  the  bay,  reached  the  sea,  and 
came  out  as  far  as  the  rock  where  he  sits  now.  Then  the 
poor  mother,  who  had  made  her  brother-in-law  take  her  over, 
cried  out  in  vain  for  mercy ;  it  was  like  throwing  a  stone  at  a 
wolf.  By  the  moonlight  she  saw  the  father  take  the  son, 
towards  whom  her  heart  still  yearned,  and  fling  him  into  the 
water ;  and  as  there  was  not  a  breath  of  air  stirring,  she  heard 
the  gurgling  sound,  and  then  nothing — not  an  eddy,  not  a 
ripple  ;  the  sea  is  a  famous  keeper  of  secrets,  that  it  is ! 
When  Cambremer  reached  the  place  to  silence  her  moans,  he 
found  her  lying  like  one  dead.  The  two  brothers  could  not 
carry  her,  so  they  had  to  put  her  in  the  boat  that  had  carried 


380  A  SEASIDE    TRAGEDY. 

her  son,  and  they  took  her  round  home  by  way  of  the  Croisic 
channel. 

•'Ah,  well!  la  belle  Brouin,  as  they  called  her,  did  not 
live  the  week  out.  She  died,  asking  her  husband  to  burn  the 
accursed  boat.  Oh  !  he  did  it ;  yes,  he  did  it.  He  himself 
was  queer  after  that;  he  did  not  know  what  ailed  him;  he 
reeled  about  like  a  man  who  cannot  carry  his  wine.  Then  he 
went  off  somewhere  for  ten  days,  and  came  back  again  to  put 
himself  where  you  saw  him ;  and  since  he  has  been  there,  he 
has  not  said  a  word." 

The  fisherman  told  us  the  story  in  a  few  minutes,  in  words 
even  more  simple  than  those  that  I  have  used.  Working 
people  make  little  comment  on  what  they  tell ;  they  give  you 
the  facts  that  strike  them,  and  interpret  them  by  their  own 
feelings.  His  language  #as  as  keenly  incisive  as  the  stroke 
of  a  hatchet. 

"I  shall  not  go  to  Batz,"  said  Pauline,  when  we  reached 
the  outer  rim  of  the  lake. 

We  went  back  to  Croisic  by  way  of  the  salt  marshes,  the 
fisherman  guiding  us  through  the  labyrinth.  He  had  also 
grown  silent.  Our  mood  had  changed.  Both  of  us  were 
deep  in  melancholy  musings,  and  saddened  by  the  mournful 
story  which  explained  the  swift  presentiment  that  we  had  felt  at 
the  sight  of  Cambremer.  We  had  each  of  us  sufficient  kno'.vI- 
edge  of  human  nature  to  fill  in  the  outlines  of  the  three  lives 
that  our  guide  had  sketched  for  us.  The  tragedy  of  these 
three  human  beings  rose  up  before  us  as  if  we  saw  scene  after 
scene  of  a  drama  crowned  by  the  father's  expiation  of  an  in- 
evitable crime.  We  did  not  dare  to  look  at  the  rocks  where 
he  sat,  the  fate-bound  soul  who  struck  terror  into  a  whole 
country-side.  A  few  clouds  overcast  the  sky.  The  mist  rose 
on  the  horizon  of  the  sea.  We  were  walking  through  the 
most  acrid  dreariness  that  I  have  ever  seen  ;  the  earth  beneath 
our  feet  seemed  sick  and  unwholesome  in  these  salt  marshes. 


A   SEASIDE    TRAGEDY.  881 

which,  with  good  reason,  might  be  called  a  cutaneous  erup- 
tion on  the  face  of  the  earth.  The  ground  is  scored  over  in 
rough  squares,  with  high  banks  of  gray  earth  about  them  ; 
each  is  full  of  brackish  water ;  the  salt  rises  to  the  surface. 
These  artificial  hollows  are  intersected  by  raised  pathways,  on 
which  the  workmen  stand  to  skim  the  surface  of  the  pools 
with  long  scrapers ;  and  the  salt,  when  collected,  is  deposited 
to  drain  on  circular  platforms  set  at  even  distances,  till  it  is  fit 
to  lay  up  in  heaps.  For  two  hours  we  skirted  this  dreary 
chessboard,  where  the  salt  stops  the  growth  of  any  green 
thing;  occasionally,  at  long  intervals,  we  came  upon  one  or 
tTio  paludiers,  so  they  call  the  men  who  work  among  the  salt 
marshes.  These  workers,  or  it  should  rather  be  said,  this 
race  apart  among  the  Bretons,  wear  a  special  costume,  a 
white  jacket  rather  like  those  that  brewers  wear.  They  marry 
only  among  themselves  ;  a  girl  belonging  to  this  tribe  has 
never  been  known  to  marry  any  one  but  a  paludier.  The 
hideous  desolation  of  those  swamps  where  the  boggy  soil  is 
scraped  up  into  symmetrical  heaps,  the  grayness  of  the  soil, 
from  which  every  Breton  flower  shrinks  in  disgust,  were  in 
keeping  with  the  sadness  within  us.  We  reached  the  spot 
where  you  cross  an  arm  of  the  sea,  the  channel  doubtless 
through  which  the  salt-water  breaks  in  upon  the  low-lying 
land  and  leaves  its  deposits  on  the  soil,  and  we  were  glad  to 
see  the  scanty  plant-life  growing  along  the  edge  of  the  sand. 
As  we  crossed  it,  we  saw  the  island  in  the  lagoon  where  the 
Cambremers  once  lived,  and  turned  our  heads  away. 

When  we  reached  our  inn  we  noticed  a  billiard-table  in  the 
room  on  the  ground  floor,  and  when  we  learned  that  it  was 
the  only  public  billiard-table  in  Croisic,  we  made  our  prepara- 
tions for  departure  that  night,  and  on  the  morrow  we  went  to 
Gu6rande. 

Pauline  was  still  depressed,  and  I  myself  felt  a  return  of  the 
burning  sensation  that  scorches  my  brain.  I  was  so  griev- 
ously haunted  by  the  visions  of  those  three  lives  that  I  had 


382  A  SEASIDE   TRAGEDY. 

conjured  up,  that  Pauline  said,  "Write  the  story,  Louis,  and 
the  fever  may  take  a  turn." 

So,  dear  uncle,  I  have  written  the  story  for  you ;  but  our 
adventure  has  already  undone  the  good  effects  of  repose,  the 
result  of  our  stay  here  and  at  the  Baths. 

Paris,  November  20,  1834. 


f- 


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